


The Gray Hunter

by TwylaMercedes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Love Story in a Time of Turmoil, Magic, Many Creepy (possibly) Scary Creatures, Re-interpreted History
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 100,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7257976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwylaMercedes/pseuds/TwylaMercedes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For many years, he has walked in darkness, his very soul dedicated to ridding the world of evil. He has walked alone, for there is no one who could dare share his destiny.  And then he encounters her, a young woman with a distinctive heritage, one who can stand by his side, fight by his side. Together they will engage the forces of an ancient enemy.  AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_It was a night-fiend, a nacht-teufel._

There was a chill in the air and wisps of nearly luminescent fog were reaching out like fingers threading through the darkened streets.  He stood in the mists of the Borderlands as he had now for several nights.  It had been raining and the old cobblestones were glistening and reflecting the few brave lights that were weakly trying to shine through the night. The hour was closer to dawn than midnight. The streets were barren but for the single man who stood cloaked in black, standing off in the darkest of the shadows.

The man rubbed his eyes, tired after what had already been a long night – a long fight.  He had been chasing The Disturbance now for too long, along narrow alleys, into dark corners and across from shadowy doorways.  It had eluded him for more than a week suggesting to him a greater intelligence than these things normally possessed.

Driven by smell and a sixth sense, he had been able to follow the thing, tracking it down, through The Barrier and descending beyond it into the closed off tunnels beneath the city, a maze of forgotten basement dwellings, utility conveyance tubing and ragged streets and walkways left over from decades ago.  It was always damp in these places and a wet sour stench permeated the air.  He’d chased the damned thing into a warehouse sub-basement.  He knew It was in there.

Beneath the rot of the place, the man could also smell the acrid odor of dark magic.  He brushed off the oily, sticky feeling that clung to the brick walls of the warehouse.  It was eked out all around him, winding around his legs. 

He walked slowly, silently, cursing his bum leg that twinged and sang pain and kept him off balance, cursing the aches and hurts that came with his age and cursing his sacred calling.  _He’d never asked for this._   He was ramped up by adrenaline and now stood with his weapons loaded, waiting, searching. He put his hand on his ever-present crucifix, muttering a quick prayer, asking for help, for guidance, and for strength. 

Something rustled behind him and he turned and fired off his crossbow without looking, without aiming, without thought.

“A bit jumpy aren’t you, Stiltskin?”

It was a deep, husky voice, soft, silky, dangerous. Definitely not human.

“A bit,” he answered turning slowly, quietly reloading his weapon. 

“They’re coming,” the _nacht-teufel_ told him, giving him a skeletal smile. 

“Yeah, well, when they get here, I’ll send them back to Hell too,” and without further ado he again raised his weapon and shot.

Damn! The night-fiend had already shifted and he missed.  Served him right for engaging in conversation with the evil creature.  _Nacht-teufels_ were very dark, but they had never been living creatures, not in the sense that they had ever had breathe.  They, like their bigger, stronger _schatten-scheusal_ cousins, continued their existence by feeding on a combination of blood and fear. 

Humans usually sensed them as dark, terrifying entities, most often describing them as shadow creatures.  They particularly enjoyed frightening children, lurking in their closets, under their beds and in the corners of their rooms, waiting until the adults had gone on to bed before coming out.  They usually wouldn’t present directly to adults, but would dart around the corners of peripheral vision.  Often the grown-ups would wonder if they had actually seen anything and would spend time convincing themselves there had been nothing there. 

The _nacht-teufels would_ bide their time, waiting for weaknesses, a moment of despair, a time of sickness, some of them going to the effort to drive their prey mad before moving in to take possession, to kill. 

 _While wary and persistent, they weren’t particularly clever.  Hunting them was usually a matter of perseverance with a little bit of luck._  

One _nacht-teufel_ was usually of no consequence.  Local priests were usually able to take them down.  But this one had taken up residence in downtown proper and seemed to be unusually vicious.  Typically such a creature would terrorize a family for many months before attacking but this one had not settled into any one location. And since coming to town it had quickly adopted a murderous pattern; there had already been three mysterious deaths.  The deaths had baffled police.  The victims had died from apparent heart attacks but there had been several odd, animal-like bite markings on them.  All had had a pattern of multiple scratches consisting of three parallel welts crisscrossing their bodies.  Someone on the police force had contacted the local diocese when the first victim came in and after a cursory inspection of the body, Father Hopper had called his superiors.     

The Hunter shrugged.  He had been sent for soon after the first death.  The second death had taken place as he traveled to the city _back to the city – he had been here before_.  The third death had occurred during his second night of hunting. 

Along with being unusually bloodthirsty, this particular  _nacht-teufel_ was operating differently, as if it was a bolder, more evolved version of the breed.  Usually, these things only took him a night or two to deal with, but this one had been so much more clever, more frustrating than most. 

The man continued to search but every bit of esper-talent he had said that the _nacht-teufel_ had moved on. 

He decided to call it a night.  He knew the thing had likely melded into the ground, dissipating its energies so that it was no longer an entity with a physical shape.  He walked along the cold rank streets, through the shadow regions, the Borderlands between here and there, making his way back to the _real world_.  He made his silent way back to the church that was his current residence.  He found his way around the church to go into the hidden side door that was his special entrance and returned to his small room in a back corridor. 

His current abode was a narrow cell with a stone floor and stone walls and a single high window.  Inside the cell was a narrow cot with a thin mattress, a small table, and a single chair.  There was also a medium-sized black chest, not quite three feet wide, perhaps a foot deep and likely a foot and half wide which was set up against the wall.  Besides the entry-way, there were two doors.  One led to a slim closet. The other went into a small bath chamber complete with a toilet, a small sink, and a shower.  The room lacked obvious amenities; there was no rug on the cold floor, no curtains, no heater to take the chill off.  There was only a single blanket on the cot. 

The man stripped off and took a quick cold shower, steeling his slender wiry body against the weak spritz of frigid water coming from the decrepit shower head.  Afterwards, he quickly toweled off and pulled on a pair of coarse cotton sleep pants and a plain tee.

The man then knelt, going down to his knees with some difficulty, the old injury hampering the movements.   He said his prayers, asking forgiveness for his many sins and then went to sleep on the cot.  He slept soundly, his sleep undisturbed by nightmares or shadow creatures. 

He rose at noon, dressing in his familiar dark attire.  He found the young Priest Archibald Hopper, Father Archie, and implored him to hear his confession. 

_He had failed -- again.  He had talked with the creature.  He had fired his weapon without being absolutely sure of the target.  He had not fired his weapon expeditiously enough to kill the monster.  It was still loose, representing a danger to all.  He had, yet again, failed._

Archie was too kind. 

“Don’t you think you are being too hard on yourself?” the young priest asked him.

The man considered.  “How can I be too hard on myself?  I am failing in my mission and this isn’t even a major menace.  In _Tobin’s Spirit Guide_ , a _nacht-teufel_ is no more than a Level Three disturbance.  Yet this one has taken up nine nights of hunting.  And during this time, it has killed again.  I am responsible for that third person’s death.  If I had done my job properly . . . “

“You are the most committed, most skilled man I’ve ever known about.  If you haven’t gotten the job done yet, no one could have.”

The man hesitated, “It called my name.”

“Your name?” Archie wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

“Not my title, my name.  It knew who I was.”  He looked away.  “It shouldn’t know my name.”

_Names have power._

Archie absolved him of his sins and offered him communion. He then suggested the hunter spend the rest of the afternoon in quiet contemplation, resting, getting himself pulled back together. 

The man agreed and settled into the small garden of the church, its green energies rejuvenating him.  He cleaned his weapons.  He ate a slim meal of soup and bread.  He reset his equipment, and went out again, returning to the tunnels of the previous evening, returning to the Borderlands, the shadow world where he hunted those creatures that had left one of the dark worlds.

He sensed it before he saw it, the _Erzengel_ , the steely gray figure that would come to him from time to time, always with a message, always with a warning.  To the casual eye, the _Erzengel_ was a tall, slender man with shoulder-length, nearly white-blond hair and pale skin.  The creature had odd silver-colored eyes.  The man bowed his head and waited.  The _Erzengel_ would speak when it was ready. 

“It begins,” the _Erzengel_ finally spoke.  “The beginning of the end.”

The hunter nodded.  He was expecting something along these lines.  He waited.  Usually, the _Erzengel_ would say something short and to the point and then fade away, but this evening it was lingering.  “There is someone new.  Someone important.” 

He waited but then the thing disappeared, fading slowly until where it had been and all that had surrounded it became the same. 

_Great, someone new, someone important.  Should he be pleased or frightened?  Why the hell couldn’t these things just express themselves straight-forward and clearly?  They always had to speak cryptically and obtusely.  Well, he’d just wait and see.  He didn’t have much choice in the matter._

He didn’t have to wait long.  

 _He wasn’t sure what he was seeing at first. A little, fluttery thing, composed of lightness and quickness._    He could see that it was moving between the shadows of the building.   He didn’t smell the taint of dark magic.

He did smell magic, however.  Whatever it was down there with him, it was strong.  Something tingled – perhaps a sense of familiarity. 

He continued to watch from the shadows and spotted the _nacht-teufel_ waiting around a corner, waiting for the little hunter.  The other hunter slowly approached the corner, perhaps, likely, sensing The Danger that lurked out of sight.  The man loaded his own weapon in case it was necessary to intervene.  He continued to watch – both the _nacht-teufel_ and the little hunting creature. 

It moved fluidly, gracefully.  He could see now that it was hooded, dressed in cascading blacks and browns that well-concealed it in the shadowy half-lights of the undertown.  It was clearly a Hunter of some nature, looking for signs of passage, sniffing the air, feeling its way.  He was impressed with the creature’s control and strength; the being seemed very self-assured, very purposeful and economical in its movements.

Then the _nacht-teufel_ stepped out in front of the creature, drawing itself up to its greatest size, looming over the little creature, the dark energies threatening the creature.  Most would fall in the presence of such darkness, becoming paralyzed with fear.  Their tongues, their feet would fail them.  He lifted his own weapon, preparing to fire.  The _nacht-teufel_ towered over the little hunter, but the delicate little creature did not flinch, did not engage the _nacht-teufel_ in conversation.  Instead, the creature took quick aim and fired, cutting down the fiend. 

There was a jagged scream and the _nacht-teufel_ flailed about.  The creature put in a second arrow and the night-fiend, after uttering a few predictable Death-Curses, succumbed. 

The man could not help but be impressed.  The creature had proven to be a focused killing machine, getting in less than an hour the exact denizen of the night that he had been tracking for more than a week.   _Another Hunter might be jealous, even angry, that the upstart had taken down his prey, but he was not another Hunter.  The job was done, even if he was not the one to have done it.  Getting the job done, that was what was important._

He stood still in the shadows continuing to watch the hunting creature.  It had bent over the last spot where the _nacht-teufel_ had been.  Then the creature looked up, looking directly in his direction. 

The man held his breath. He knew that he could not be seen but this creature somehow seemed to know he was there.  He could feel the little creature’s eyes on him as palpable as if it were touching him, tingly, soft, delicate.  The creature stared in his direction and then abruptly gathered itself and flitted out, moving swiftly and surely away from the scene of the execution. 

He waited until he was sure the little creature had moved on.  Then he went over and inspected the kill zone.  It had been done cleanly.  There were no remains, no scorch marks, not even the usual putrid smell. 

He was indeed impressed.

He returned back to the church early and settled in for the remainder of the night.

His mission here was completed.  His employers would be curious regarding his failure, but they would not dwell on it.  It was a rare enough occurrence but one that had happened a few times before.  He would be sent somewhere else soon enough. 

**At the White Coven**

Belle had felt _something._ Something different had been in the Borderland tonight.  Something had watched her.  She hadn’t sensed it until after the kill, but then the scrutiny had washed over her, cold and calculating, merciless.  She couldn’t quite perceive it, but she knew Someone, Some Thing, had been watching her. 

It had great power.  She had no doubt. 

Belle was an intuitive hunter; she’d never had formal training but early on she had demonstrated an ability to sense unsavory entities.  Even as a young child she had begun to display lightning fast reflexes.  She was far stronger than she looked and had some empathic skills, some healing abilities and a certain immunity to poisons and intoxicants.  She’d grown up in a White Coven, witches devoted to the Light Path.  She’d been placed with them by her father after her mother had died, at least, that was what she had been told.  She remembered neither parent.  The Coven had become her family.   

“Mother,” she had gone to the chamber where the leader of her Coven worked and lived.  She bowed and waited for Rheul to touch her before she stood upright.  Rheul Gorim had been their leader for many years now, following the death of her sister, Cairen, in close combat.  An attractive women with light skin and black hair, Belle knew she was decades older than she looked.  She had been on the fields for many years before retiring into an advisory, supervisory role.  Belle respected the older woman.  Although she was no longer much a fighter at her age, she possessed an enormous amount of arcane knowledge.

“What is it child?” she asked gently.  Belle was her most promising novice -- strong, clear-minded, unafraid, a candidate for leadership in time.  Rheul could tell that she was upset, or at least, unsettled.

“There was someone watching me.”

Rheul knew better to think that Belle would have been distressed by some random voyeur.  This was something more serious.  She waited for her young warrior to elaborate.

“He emanated Power, like I’ve never felt before.  Not evil, well, not exactly, but not like our own people, that’s for sure.  He watched me defeat the night-fiend, just standing in the shadows.  I couldn’t see him, but I could tell exactly where he was.”

“You say ‘he’?”

Belle considered.  “Yes.  Even though I never heard or saw anything, everything that I felt was male, definitely male.  He gave off waves of intense power.  When I looked in his direction, he disappeared as if he had left or . . . perhaps, had shielded himself.”

Rheul considered.  “It is possible . . . “  She stopped and shook her head, “Most unlikely, but possible.”  She stood, her limited clairvoyance guiding her thoughts.  It had been a long time since she had encountered one of those few, those very, very few, designated by the Holy Church to fight the Darkness, yet, somehow, what Belle had described sounded like one – the skilled concealment, the intensity of power. 

Father Hopper might have petitioned for one of them to come in, disparaging her own order’s attempts at maintaining the safety of the precinct.  _Were any of the old Gray Spirit Hunters even still alive?  If Hopper had accurately perceived the situation, something the young priest, gifted as he was, might have done, then the Church could have called in one of the Hunters to deal with the minor nuisance of the nacht-teufel.  Hopper might have recognized the shadow creature was not there in isolation but was a harbinger, a foreshadowing of More to Come.  That would mean that the Church was also aware of the growing peril._  

_Normally Rheul would have welcomed assistance, but the Hunters were not only effective killers of dark creatures, they were dangerous to her people, very dangerous._

_Oh but it seemed an unlikely course of action – to call in the Church’s most powerful killing machine for a single night-fiend.  She tried to convince herself she was over-reacting._

_But Belle had certainly encountered Something._

She smiled at her young charge and attempted to dispel the younger woman’s concerns _but not wanting her to dismiss the encounter either_.  “Belle, be careful.  Likely this is just some odd, isolated event, something that means nothing.  And I know, I know you are very careful, but this man, or whatever he is," she waffled, not sure of what might e going on.  "there is that slim possibility that he could be something very dangerous.” She sat back down, “I guess, I just want you to remain alert.”

Belle nodded.  “Yes, ma’am.  I will be careful.”  

Belle retired for what was left of the night making her way to her dormitory.  She moved quietly in the dimly lit hallways with their polished wood floors and white-plastered walls, making the effort not to disturb any of her sisters.  She stopped in the showers and rinsed herself off, cleaning away any ectoplasm residue from the night-fiend kill earlier. 

As she stood under the warm spray, she closed her eyes to the harsh florescent lights of the facility. 

_Odd, she usually was not one to daydream, to spend time in idle reverie.  But as she moved her hands over her body, washing herself off, she imagined . . .  imagined what it would feel like to have someone else’s hands touching her._

_She had spent all her life cloistered, protected from others, from the world, from men.  She was well-educated and very well read but naïve and innocent.  She often wondered what it would be like to have a lover, a husband, but . . . she knew her calling would prevent this from ever happening._

_Somehow, in her musings, the Watcher, as she had named the mysterious figure that had observed her evening efforts, stepped into her fantasy.  The power the man had projected was . . . seductive.  Dangerous, yes, but . . . attractive . . . enticing . . . desirable._

Belle opened her eyes and turned on the cold water to shock herself back to reality.  _Get a grip girl, she told herself.  Where were these hot flashes coming from?  She was not playing any games.  This was life and death, eternal life and everlasting death._

 **Pretty, Pretty**      

The Gray Hunter, Count Rumple Von Stiltskin, was not sure he would even go out the following evening.  The primary enemy he had been stalking had been destroyed.  He was half-expecting to get a call to go on to a new location for a new assignment.  Such calls usually came in almost immediately, sometimes the next morning. 

_He considered going out to look for the little creature again.  There was something so very interesting about the little hunter, something that spoke to him, enticed his interest._

He shook himself.  He didn’t need to go looking for trouble.

And when no call came in, he elected to go to Sudice’s Coffee and Wine Bar to meet with his Aunts.  He hadn’t planned on connecting with them, figuring that he likely wouldn’t have any leisure time.  But now, with the enemy taken care of and no other assignments in his lap, he decided he should go and see them.  He wanted to see them.

And perhaps he might get some news on his grandson.

“Oh darling, I’d heard you were in town and only just now have you made time to come see us.”  It was his Aunt Nessie, gently scolding him.  The youngest of his aunts, she was easily his favorite of the three.  She was a warm, comforting woman, shorter than her sisters with long black hair.  She was dressed in layers of black and wore silver jewelry.

“Been very busy, Auntie,” he apologized. 

“Of course, of course, you have been.  Here sit down.  Coffee?  Tea?  Wine?” she asked him. 

“Just some tea.”

“Green, black, red, white, herbal?”

“You’re just making some of those up,” he told her with a smile.

“Green it is,” she replied and scurried off to prepare it for him.  Soon enough a tall, slender woman, spotted him and sat down across from him.  Like his Aunt Nessie, she too had long black hair but hers was beginning to be streaked with strands of silver. She also was dressed darkly with silver jewelry.  “Rumple dearest.  You’re looking tired,” she told him.

He had to agree.  “Aunt Artie, does it ever get easier?” he asked her.

She shook her head, “No, _leibchen_ , no.”  In a quiet voice, she shared.  “Your grandson is doing well.”

He hesitated, “Is it all right to talk about such things here?”

“Nothing can enter here that we do not wish to enter,” she assured him. 

“Thank you.”

Just then a third woman joined them.  She was neither plump nor thin, tall, nor short.  Her long hair was completely gray.  Seeing her eldest sister, Artie elected to give her nephew a quick hug and left.  The third woman sat down.  “I see you have met her.”

“What?! Who?” he asked.

“The new one.  The important one.”

He shivered.  She had used the same descriptions as the _Erzengel_ had.       

His oldest aunt smiled gently, “Be careful, dear.  Be careful.  It is good to see you again,” and then she got back up and left him.

At that moment, his Aunt Nessie returned, carrying him a to-go cup of tea.  “Enola has always been the most pretentious of us all,” she told him nodding at the back of her oldest sister who was walking away. 

“Who is she, the one Aunt Enola was talking about?” he asked.

Nessie smiled at him.  “Well, I certainly don’t know.  It’s been long enough, perhaps she’s your soulmate.  They did promise you that you’d meet her.”

He almost laughed, “At the end of days, yes.  But is it that time already?” he asked.

“Who knows, _kleiner Hase_?  Who knows?”

He wanted to spend more time with his Aunts, particularly his Aunt Nessie.  She had been most like a mother to him and he felt closest to her.  But, he knew his presence invited dark things. He knew they were more than capable of taking care of themselves, but he never would want to put them into a position where they had to defend themselves.  He reluctantly opted to leave.  He took his tea in a to-go cup and once again descended into the bowels of the city, walking the area, doing a perimeter check, perhaps with the idea of taking out a few lesser demons and frights.  

_He was also curious if he might see the little killing creature again._

He stood back against the wall, drinking his hot tea in its cardboard cup, watching the shadows.  It was a little after two in the morning when he saw it again, a small figure hunting redcaps and dubharims and other minor nuisances.   Such petty creatures readily sensed his power and fled before him.

He watched the creature, this evening dressed in wide full leather pants and a large loose black hooded jacket, as it cut down one minor demi-demon after another.  It was indeed an efficient killing machine.

In the dim light of one of the fractured streetlights that still remained on the tortured streets of the Undertown, the creature threw back the hood of the jacket, turned and he caught a view of its face, the creature’s lovely face.  He involuntarily sucked in his breath.

It was female!  Definitely female. 

_How had he not sensed this before?_

A female hunter.  Most unusual. 

Pretty.

Very pretty.

He waited. 

The female creature began to make her way over to his hiding place.  She didn’t seem to sense him and he just stood and waited, shielding himself, quelling the waves of magic that typically emanated from him, just as he would if he were hunting.    

 _Come pretty, pretty, come into my parlor_ he coaxed her in his mind.  He continued to dampen his own powers, to make himself less perceptible. 

As she gigged a redcap that had drunkenly wandered onto the sidewalk, he made his move, swiftly coming up behind her, catching one of her arms and pulling it behind her back and setting his dagger, his ancient enchanted kris blade, to her delicate throat. 

“Well, well dearie.  How’s the hunting?  Having a good evening?” he asked her, whispering into her ear.

She had stilled, well aware of the sharp blade that was pressed against her skin, handicapped by the vise grip her arm was in.

“I was,” she managed to say.

“Good.  You’re coming with me now,” he told her and began to usher her along the darkened streets, _taking out a moment to glamour himself and his captive, suffocating their sounds and dulling their visibility.  At most they would appear to be a wavering in the air to unsuspecting passersby – most of whom were drunk or high or mentally disturbed or some combination thereof._

She surprised him by going limp and when he stopped to get a better grip she was able to use her free hand to thrust up with a small knife, nicking him on a rib.  _It hurt like hell._ He swore, then used his hand, still holding his own dagger, to knock her directly on her knife hand, numbing it and causing her to drop the blade.

She then back-kicked him in the shins.  He nearly released her but collected himself.  He pulled her arm back again and knew that he had to be hurting her.  He heard her gasp in pain.  And he once again raised the blade to her fine neck.

“Do something that stupid again and I will cut you, little hunter.  You will come with me if you have to be carried in pieces.”  His tone brooked no discussion, no debate.  He watched her as she turned her head just enough to look up at him, looking at him through narrowed eyes, obviously considering her options. 

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I . . . who I am is of no consequence.  I’m here to do a job.  Willing or no, you have now become part of that job,” he told her dispassionately. 

_In the haze of pain and panic, she detected an accent in his speech – likely Northern British Isles but not quite.  Other influences were altering his speech tone and patterns._

She allowed him to pull her along, not exactly coming along willingly but moving as sluggishly as she thought he would tolerate.  She balked as they approached The Church.

“Are you planning on taking me in there?” she asked him.

 


	2. Tension

_We have met the Gray Hunter, Count Rumple Von Stiltskin, who walks the Borderland killing shadowy predators.  He has encountered a young hunter who has impressed him with her skills and, for reasons of his own, has taken her prisoner._

“Are you planning on taking me in there?”

He pulled them to a stop in front of the Church.  He looked her over.  “Yes.  Are you going to tell me that you’ll burst into flames if you go inside Holy Mother Church?”  His eyes had narrowed and she had no doubt that he would force her into the auspices of the church regardless of her response.

She didn’t answer immediately and for a moment she knew he wondering if she just might.  Finally, she hung her head. “No,” she replied.  _But Belle was curious.  A church?  Why would he take her to a church and not some sleazy hotel or back basement or other scummy hideout?  This was unexpected._

_What kind of creature had taken her prisoner?_

Still holding her tightly, he pushed her along and they went widdershins around to the side of the Church.  He shunted her in through a narrow door and then he shoved her along the narrow back corridors of the facility until they came to a small room.  He pushed her inside and stepped in after her.  Not taking his eyes off of her, he locked the door and put the key up high on the lintel _out of her reach_. 

She stood in the middle of the room, next to a narrow cot. 

“Do you plan to keep me here in this jail cell?” she asked him.

He gave her a tight smile.  “This is actually my room.  I don’t require much,” he told her.  He sat down in the single chair next to the narrow wooden table, his odd dagger re-sheathed by his side.   He looked her over, his sharp eyes taking in every detail: a black hood over-jacket which served to hide her in the shadows, a leather vest that gave her protection against the chill, a flowing brown leather skirt that allowed her maximum fluidity of movement.  And he thought he spotted several glints that indicated weapons.

“Now, tell me who you are,” he directed.

She smiled back at him.  “You go to hell.”

He sighed.  “Got to do it the hard way, I see.  Why do they always have to do it the hard way?” He stood and removed his belt, keeping it in his hand.  She watched him warily, trying to keep him at a distance but finding maneuvering in the tiny room next to impossible. 

He was on her in an instant faster than she could imagine anyone moving.  He pushed her down to the little bed catching her hands and, using his belt, he fastened them together and then tied them to the iron bars of the cot’s top railings.  Her strength was nothing against his.  She kicked out at him but he used his own body weight to still her movements.  He then took a knife from his side and first cut off her black linen hooded jacket.  He then began to cut her black, close-fitting leather vest open. 

She sucked in her breath and closed her eyes when he cut the shoulder seams so that the garment was now falling off.  He dragged the vest away from her body and dropped it on the floor.  The vest clanged as it hit the stone floor and several throwing stars went rolling on the floor away from the ravaged garment.

He looked at her face and smiled.  “A little artillery in the vest there, I take it.”

She just glared at him and looked away. 

He took off the short scalpel she had sheathed on one arm.  After examining it and finding it suitable for his purpose, he then, methodically, using her own scalpel, began to cut away the rest of her clothing, first removing her black silken blouse.  With that off, he removed the pistol she had in her waistband.  He could now see that on the belt of the skirt was a curiously coiled flail.  He removed it and examined it closely.

“Where did you get this, my pretty?” he asked.

She didn’t respond immediately but finally, after taking a deep breath, she decided to answer, “If you must know, it came from my mother.  It is one of the few things I have from her.”

He gave her an odd look _obviously not believing her,_ but then nodded and dropped it along with all the other weapons to the floor. 

He then shifted his weight and pulled off her boots.  He noted the razor that graced the toe of one the boots.  Both boots were dropped on the floor.

He then removed the stiletto she had strapped to her calf and then carefully, still using her scalpel, ran the blade up the side seams of her long brown leather skirt, ripping it, ruining it.  Once the skirt was removed, he took the dagger that had been sheathed on her thigh.

She was lying still at the moment, now clad only in her serviceable cotton panties and a little plain cotton wisp of a bra. 

He shifted and stood up by the bed.  She looked away from him staring at the wall.

Belle was holding her breath.  What would he do next?  _She was anticipating rape and was praying to the Holy Mother for protection, for strength to endure._       

But instead of mounting her, he shifted again on the bed, sitting up near her shoulders and reached his hands gently into her hair.   It had been pulled back and buried deep within the burnished curls where she had bound her hair together, he pulled out a short but lethal-looking pin.  This he carefully laid on the table.

He sat back on the bed, not touching her.  He looked at her a long moment, his glance also taking in the pile of weapons he’d removed. 

“Expecting trouble?” he asked her but didn’t wait for an answer.  “Now, my dear.  We’ll begin again.  Who are you?”  His voice was soft but there was an underlying cold menace to it.

She didn’t respond keeping her head turned.  He closed his eyes and muttered something . . . _a prayer?_ and then laid a hand on the side of her face. 

“Answer me,” he commanded her.

She gasped and tried to turn away from him.  He kept his hand on her face and she bit her lip trying not to call out.  _There were waves of pain searing through her.  She wanted to scream, to beg him to stop._

“Your name, my sweet.  That will stop the little discomfort I’m sending your way.  What’s your name?”  He asked again, his voice still soft.

“Belle!  My name is Belle!” she spit it out and when he took his hand away, she was panting, struggling to regain her composure, sure he had melted the skin on the side of her face. 

“Your complete name, my dear.” He was relentless and reached for her face again.

“Belle French!” she managed to gasp out before he touched her.

“Now see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”  He voice was still so reasonable sounding.  He stood and took off his own black leather jacket, hanging it on a hook behind the door.  He was dressed in brown leather pants, the male counterpart to what she had been wearing, and a plain black t-shirt.  He stopped to remove some of the weapons he kept on his own person, several guns, knives, a Taser and what may have been several small grenades or smoke bombs of some type. 

He sat back down on the bed. 

“Now Belle, my dear girl.  Why were you out hunting night-fiends and red caps and such?”

When she didn’t answer, he moved his hand toward her face again and _she couldn’t stop herself_ as she flinched back.  “It’s my job,” she told him.

“Good girl,” he praised her quick responding. Then he went back to his questioning, “Your job?” he wasn’t sure he was understanding her.  He trailed his fingertips down her arm.   She couldn’t stop herself from shuddering.  “What do you mean?”

“It’s what I do,” she told him.  “I’m part of a little group and we hunt monsters.  That’s it.  That’s all there is to it.”  She spoke in a rush, her eyes wide with fear and not a little anger.

“Why?  Why would you hunt such things?” he was genuinely puzzled.  “They can kill you, take your soul, turn you into a dark creature yourself.”

“I don’t know.  It seemed like a good idea when we came up with it.”

He sat back, clearly not believing her.  He looked at her a while, folding his hands together and then seemed to make up his mind.

He stood up and went into the small black chest that was in one corner.  When he turned his back, she twisted and pulled against the leather belt but wasn’t able to free herself or even loosen the bonds.  He knew well enough what she was doing and ignored her while he opened the black chest and pulled out several items, handcuffs and leg shackles. 

He brought them over to her.  “I’m not willing to let you go until the Father has had a chance to talk with you.  It is too late to disturb him now.  You will spend the night here.”

He took one of her legs into his strong grip and fastened a shackle onto it.

“Oh, oh, oh, please, please, it hurts!  It hurts!  Take it off, please.” She begged him her body writhing in pain.  This was as bad, this was worse than the pain his hand had inflicted.  She knew she was crying, humiliated that he had broken her spirit so quickly.    

He watched her a moment and then removed the one shackle.  Her ankle which had been encased by the iron shackle had turned, not only red but blistery red, some of the pustules oozing clear fluid, even blood. 

“Interesting,” he said to himself.  _So she was not a Dark Creature.  She was something of the Light, an Ethereal that could not abide cold steel.  A beautiful Ethereal for sure.  But he had lived long enough, experienced enough to know that he could not trust a beautiful face, that beautiful faces could hide dark, treacherous hearts._

_And she had not been truthful with him, at least, not entirely.  He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he knew it._

_And for another thing, he had recognized The Flail.  He couldn’t help but recognize it. There was only one like it.  He had seen it many times before and knew most of those who had previously wielded it.  He firmly doubted it had belonged to her mother.  How had it come into her possession?_

_He knew well enough that there were many Light creatures who were enemies of the Darkness but who were also enemies of Mother Church, and therefore his enemies, as well.  While he generally did not hunt such creatures, he was leery of letting one that had fallen into his clutches survive._

_But then again, he had not been specifically charged with killing her._

_He would have to take the matter up with Father Archie.  If it was approved, he would then slit her throat, her very pretty throat._

_He felt a twinge of regret.  She was a thing of beauty.  It would be such a waste to have to kill her but he was uncomfortable allowing her out on the streets.  What was it such things were called -- a loose cannon?_

_If the priest chose to release her, well then it would fall on the priest’s shoulders what happened to her, what she might do._

He glanced at the clock.  It was three o’clock, the Devil’s Hour. 

He walked back to the trunk and replaced the iron devices.  He took out rope instead and used this to tie her feet to the bottom of the bed.  He double checked his belt that was holding her hands to the railing. 

“I don’t want you getting free during the night and sticking a knife in me,” he told her honestly.

“You’re leaving me here?” she asked him.

“Not precisely,” he told her.  He then placed all the weapons, hers and his own into the black trunk, closing it after the last item was placed inside the odd chest.  He turned off the light and removed his boots and pants, leaving himself in his tee-shirt and boxers.  Then he crawled into bed with her, pulling her half-naked body close into his and pulling the sheet and thin blanket over them both.

**An Uncomfortable Night**

Belle went rigid as the man settled in next to her, his body hot and snug against her own, limb to limb, skin to skin.  _She had never been this close to a man, any man, certainly not a nearly naked man, certainly not when she was nearly naked herself.  Still terrified that he would molest her, she lay absolutely still -- but he did not make any further moves._ His arm rested over her waist.  The cot, narrow as it was, along with her bonds prevented her from moving too much.  She debated but decided finally to turn onto her side, facing away from the man.  She thought she might have heard him chuckle and he pulled her even closer to him so that her backside was nestled up against his front. 

Belle didn’t know how long she lay in his grasp, waiting, expecting, not knowing what he might do next.  But it seemed he only wanted to sleep.  Anxiously, she lay awake within his grasp, feeling the warmth, _the heat,_ of his body and inhaling his pleasant scent – spicy, male, something rich and sensuous and  . . . nice, intoxicating.  Somehow, at some time, she dropped off. 

Rumple was aware the moment that she went to sleep.  Her breathing became regular and her body softened. 

_Damn, but she was beautiful.  He had not allowed himself to linger long over her curves, her smooth flawless skin while he was undressing her, instead forcing himself to focus on ridding her of the many lethal weapons with which she had armed herself.  Now, pulled up next to him, he could only be aware that she was silken to his touch and sweet to his nose and very, very feminine.  He could not ignore that she was certainly a very desirable female._

_He closed his own eyes and said a small prayer.  He would rise above this temptation.  He would not allow this daughter of Lilith to seduce him._

When Rumple awoke he was still snuggled in with the little temptress.  Sometime during the night, his hand had traitorously shifted so that he was cupping one perfect little breast, one that he had freed from the restraints of the little cotton brassiere.  And now his thumb was engaged in circling and sliding back and forth over what had become one hyper-stimulated nipple.  In his sleep he had apparently amused himself with pinching and pulling on the nub so that now it was full and pouting, aching.  He also realized that his natural morning state of half-arousal had shifted to a full and hard erection.  He was enveloped in the scents of the little hunter’s own arousal, roses and vanilla and seashell sweetness.  Despite her helpless state, _or perhaps because of it,_ she was shifting and wiggling, her enticing little ass pressing against his cock, urging him on, encouraging him to take what she was unwittingly offering.

Her allure was too much.  He couldn’t stop himself.  He planted a gentle kiss on her neck, his tongue flicking out to taste the light sheen of sweat that lay on her skin. 

Her entire body went rigid and she pulled away from him. 

Now she was awake.

She turned so that she was now on her back.  She was looking up at him, her intense blue eyes large with dilated pupils. 

_She was frightened._

_Or was she aroused?_

His hand was still on her breast.  Locking eyes with her, he deliberately slid his hand down her body and went to the juncture between her legs, slipping in between the thighs she was trying to keep together.  She was damp. She closed her eyes and made a tiny sound when he touched her.

He bit his lip and closed his own eyes, considering his next action.  _He so wanted to fuck her, to take her right there in his humble cot, bending her forward and driving himself into her, forcing her to respond, emptying himself into her moist heat_

But that would be wrong. 

Oh, not because it would have been rape, but because it would mean breaking one of his own vows.  He was still officially on a hunt and he did not indulge when he was on a hunt.  There had been such times in the past and the results had been near disastrous.  He had promised himself to never repeat this mistake.   

But she was surely the Devil’s Beautiful Instrument, tempting him, enticing him.  He steeled himself, telling himself that he was stronger, stronger than his base desires and he would rise above them.  He opened his eyes and pulled away from her, sitting up.  He left her in the bed while he relieved his bladder and redressed, this time in jeans and a clean t-shirt. 

He returned to her, his body cooled and back to a relaxed state. He unfastened her feet and then her hands.  She quickly re-set her bra to rights, then rubbed her wrists while watching him from the cot. 

“Go ahead and take care of yourself,” he nodded toward the small toilet facility.

While she was gone, he picked through his meager wardrobe, looking for something she could put on.  She returned quickly enough to the main room, after having peed and washing her hands and then her face off.  There was no mirror in the bathroom but she had used, as she could, the silver tone of the faucet to try to examine her face.  She’d half-expected it to be blistered or reddened from whatever it was he’d done with his hand.  She found it apparently unscathed both to her limited sight and to the touch of her fingers. 

Now she was standing in the center of the room dressed, shivering, only in her panties and bra from the day before.  He looked her over.  Her dark hair was quite tousled with wispy curls and errant ringlets haloing her face.  Her wrists were still welted with the pressure marks from his belt and that one ankle was still red and blistering. 

He handed her one of his few t-shirts which she quickly pulled over her head and tugged down.  He walked around her, shaking his head.  His shirt was too short, too immodest, for her to wear without anything else, revealing too much of her shapely legs.  He made a decision and handed her the single pair of sleep pants that he had, the ones he’d slept in the night before.

“Put these on.  I’m going to take you to see Father Hopper,” he told her.  “It would not be proper for you to be seen wearing just my tee-shirt.”

She complied well aware that the pants were still warm from the heat of his body.

“Come,” he ordered her and she dutifully followed as he led her down the back corridors.  _She considered bolting but realized she wasn’t sure where she was and had no ready way to contact her own people._ The man finally stopped outside the door of the Priest’s office. 

“Father?” he lightly knocked on the door.

“Yes?” and the Father promptly opened the door.  The young priest pulled back when he saw Belle behind the demon hunter.

“I need you to talk with her,” the Hunter told him.  “See if she is willing, is able to withstand the touch of holy objects.  I have to know what she is.”

Archie nodded, “Come in, Miss,” he spoke kindly to Belle who walked through the door taking care not to touch her captor.

“Let me talk with her alone,” Archie told the Hunter.  “She doesn’t look very dangerous.”

“Don’t underestimate her, Father,” the Hunter warned him.  “She is a very skilled fighter.”

Archie nodded with understanding and closed the door behind himself.  “My dear.  Were you a guest here last night?” he asked concerned.

“I was a prisoner of that crazy-ass, pardon me Father, nutter that just dropped me off.  He tied me to his bed, cut my clothes off . . . “

“Oh my,” Archie was clearly distressed to hear this turn of events.  “Did he . . . did he . . . hurt you?”

Belle showed Archie her ankle with its still oozing red sores.  “And he did something with his hand on my face.  It was very painful like my blood was on fire and my skin was melting.  He made me tell him my name.”

The good Father nodded and then, painfully, he persisted, “Did he . . . hurt you?”

Belle understood what he was asking. “No,” she answered in a small voice.

“I will talk with him about his other actions.  He is, I’m afraid, used to being a law unto himself.  Now, let me see what you are so that, hopefully, I can arrange for you to be returned home, safe and sound.”

“I’m one of Mother Rheul’s novices,” she felt comfortable telling the priest, for whatever reason he seemed infinitely more trustworthy than the crazy-ass nutter.  “I just need to what? take a communion wafer into my mouth?  drink some holy water?  I just need to show that I can come into contact with something Church-holy and not disintegrate,” Belle told him.  “Then you’ll get me something else to wear and allow me to go home?”

“Of course, I will.”

“Then have at it,” Belle told him and knelt where she stood.

**Sent Home**

“You told her she could go home?” Stiltskin was irritated.  He knew the priest had made several phone calls.  First, one to Rheul to get a description of her pretty novice and then one to the Mother Superior there at the Church, to get one of the sisters to send over a shift for the young woman to wear.  Father Archie had then allowed Belle to call for a ride home.  “I still wanted to talk with her.  I don’t know what she is . . .”

“She’s a White Witch.  I know her Order well.  They are not our enemy.”  Archie hesitated, “Stiltskin, it is . . . perhaps . . . uh . . .  not advisable for you to take young women off the streets and hold them against their will.”

“I can, Father when it is necessary.  I can.  She was in the Borderland, hunting shadow creatures.  She killed the _nacht-teufel._ I had to find out how dangerous she was, whether she was a threat,” Stiltskin told him.  The man turned to look at the priest, “My authority in such matters supersedes local law.  It comes from God.”

“Nevertheless, when you engage in such actions, the Church can only go so far in protecting you,” Archie tried to talk some sense into the man.  “She is a human being, well mostly.  She had no problem with the communion wafer and held the crucifix to her forehead with no ill effects.  She is not a demon.  She may not be a true child of the Church, but she is not your enemy.”

Stiltskin digested the priest’s cautionary words.  He sighed.  “I struggle to understand,” he admitted.  “Now, hear my confession Father.  I have much to confess.”  _His enjoyment of stripping her clothes from her body, his body’s response to her presence in his bed._

_Oh yes, he had much to confess._

**The Coven's Office**

Belle had gone into the office of her coven’s leader.  It was very early in the morning but Rheul Gorim, her Mother Superior, was up and working.  _Belle wondered if the woman ever slept._

Belle loved the Mother Superior’s office.  It was a calming, pleasant room with a large window that looked out to a lovely garden.  Belle and Mother Rheul sat in the two tapestried chairs that were set off to one side, away from the large carved wooden desk.  The chairs were set on a large Persian rug that had been woven in shades of blue.  There were portraits of previous Mother Superiors hung on the pale blue painted walls of the room. There were a few lush green plants set around the room and soft music played in the background.

Belle shared most of what had happened with her Mother Superior.  She shared how the man had easily overpowered her, using an odd knife and brute strength.  She shared that he had taken her back to the Church, had cut off her clothing, taken her weapons, extracted her name using an unknown, but effective form of torture and . . . and then, nothing, until the morning when he had insisted she talk with the young priest.  There she had tolerated a communion wafer held to her tongue, had swallowed some Holy Water and held a blessed crucifix to her forehead.  Assured that she was not a Creature of Darkness, the priest had then allowed her to call her own Mother House for a ride and had gotten her a shift from one of the nuns there at the Church to wear (instead of the t-shirt and what she had assumed were his only pair of sleep pants).  

She did not tell the Mother Superior about the man crawling into bed with her, holding onto her all night, touching her . . .  arousing her.  She distinctly remembered his lips and tongue touching her right on the little sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder came together. _He had licked her._ And not just his body and his mouth, hell, even his warmly accented voice had seemed to be offering excitement, promising . . .  promising.

_She was so ashamed at her body’s response.  She knew she should be angry – and she was – but she had still felt – something else._

After her confession and description, especially of his odd knife and his deference to the priest, Rheul had more fodder for her suspicions.  She couldn’t be sure but she thought it likely that the man was one of the Gray Hunters and Rheul knew only a very little about them.

_No one knew much about these rare creatures._

“I think, he’s one of the Gray Hunters,” Rheul began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Belle struggles to recover from her encounter with the Hunter. She is given a new assignment.


	3. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle struggles to recover from her encounter with the Gray Hunter. She is asked to stand in for Mother Superior at an important dinner.

_Taken prisoner, stripped of much of her clothing and all of her weapons, Belle has spent an uncomfortable night tied to a cot wrapped in the arms of the Hunter.  Examined in the morning by the kindly priest, she has been sent home.  She has shared with the leader of her Coven what happened.  Her Mother Superior is almost sure that the Church has invited in their most fearsome champion in the war against the forces of darkness._

Rheul was obviously not comfortable with the topic, finding it terrifying.  This was an ancient enemy of her people.  _No one knew much about these rare creatures._

“I think he may be one of the Gray Hunters,” she told her charge, having decided that Belle should know all that she knew on the matter.  _Her little novice seemed to have been targeted by this Hunter and was likely in mortal danger._   “At one time, there were three of them from three different families.  I had thought them extinct by now but I guess one, at least one, must be still surviving.  The early Church would use these creatures to hunt demons so that . . .” Rheul hesitated, “so that the Church itself would not have to come into contact with these dark forces so that they wouldn’t dirty their own hands with the killing.  They wouldn’t sully themselves but would still get the job done.  The Hunters were granted certain powers and certain dispensations and for many years functioned free from laws and restrictions.”  She sighed and added, “I would hope, I would think that now that his job is finished, that this Hunter will move on.  But if you like, it would be all right for you to curtail your hunting until we are sure he is gone,” Rheul told her kindly.  _She wanted to reassure her novice, keep her safe._

“I’ll be fine going out,” Belle had replied automatically. _But would she be?  She had been shaken.  She had never come up against anything more powerful than herself._

And what if he hadn’t moved on?  What if he were still out there?  What if he took her again, tying her to his bed, rendering her helpless?  What if he decided to take advantage of her helplessness?

She took a deep breath. _Belle, she told herself, he’s always been out there, but you’ve just never run into him before.  The job he was called here to do is done, so it is quite probable that he has gone on, been called on to go to his next job._

_You won’t run into him.  You won’t ever see him again._

“Yes ma’am, I’ll be all right,” she repeated herself.  “But I need to get some new weapons.  The Hunter took them all.”

Rheul gave her a weak smile, “Oh yes, of course.  I’m so sorry.  Check with the Armory and see if they can fix you up.”

Belle nodded.  _She was still irritated that the Hunter had taken everything away from her and especially grieved over the loss of her mother’s flail – it was all she had from the woman who had died when she was an infant._

And so Belle got back out onto the streets, hunting smaller vermin.  She caught no sign, no hair, no scent of the Gray Hunter.  

Her confidence began to return.

**The Invitation**

It hadn’t been quite a week when Rheul called Belle back into her office.  Things seemed to have returned to normal and Belle was back following her routine, occasionally feeling uneasy when she was out on the hunt, but generally getting better at shaking off the queasiness _telling herself she was going to be all right, that she was safe from the Hunter_.  _She still would wake up, struggling to breathe but the episodes were becoming less frequent and less intense.  It had been three nights since she'd awakened in the middle of the night in a sweat and gotten up to shower._

“Belle,” Rheul seemed nervous as she sat behind her ornate desk.  “I hesitate to ask you to do anything like this as I know you dislike crowds.  But I won’t be available to go because I have to be away and connect with other leaders of our Order regarding That Which is Coming.”

Belle stood in the center of the room and listened.  She was not sure what the request might be.     

Rheul took a deep breath and began sharing.  “I’m talking about the annual Protection League dinner event, one I’m sure you’ve heard of, Cora Mill’s affair. She only invites the most select members of the talented community. In the past, this has just been a dinner with toasts and self-congratulatory speeches, but this year it is promising to be different.  Cora is clearly dabbling again and she has invited a wide range of entities.  It is promising to be an extraordinary affair.”  Rheul stood and walked over to the window to gaze out at her garden.  “My instincts tell me Cora is involved in some manner with That Which is Coming.”

“But didn’t she invite you?  I’m just an ordinary hunter,” Belle was shaking her head.  She wasn’t sure she was the right person to attend.  “Perhaps Aurora or Ariel . . . “  she named two of her coven sisters, both more adept with society and diplomacy. 

“I think that Cora will be fine that I’ve sent her someone who is both a warrior and a scholar,” Rheul assured her.  Then she paused, “I still have not heard for certain if the Gray Hunter has remained in town, and if he is here if he’s been invited.  Even if he has been invited, I doubt he would attend.”

Belle nodded.  _Somehow the image of the leather-clad rough-hewn Hunter at a black-tie event was so incongruous as to almost be amusing._

“Belle,” Rheul was still talking. “This is a most prestigious gathering and I need someone there to watch the situation carefully. Since I cannot go, I would prefer that someone with insight and understanding go in my stead.  You’re the best person, my dear.  I trust you implicitly.  But if you don’t feel like it . . . I understand.  After your confrontation with the Gray Hunter, I would, of course, understand.”

“I’m fine,” Belle declared _for the twentieth time. She was fine, right?_   

_She could kick ass with the best of them, but was she really ready to go face-to-face with other Talents in a dull, formal social setting?  Her style was more slash and burn not smile and simper._

“Belle?” Rheul was waiting for an answer.

“I’ll go.  Are you sure that Ms. Mills will not be disappointed that it’s me and not you?” she had to ask.

“I think she’ll be thrilled to meet you, Belle.  She collects people of power and ability,” Rheul assured her.

**The Gathering**

And it was indeed going to be a glittering affair.  Her sisters, excited for her, had eagerly taken the time to help her get ready. 

“We don’t want you to embarrass our order by showing up in camouflage pants and a black flak vest,” Ariel had teased her.  “This is a very formal affair.”

Aurora, with her excellent taste, had picked out an embellished golden gown, a long silk dress with glittering beaded swirls and discreet panels of shimmering gauze that revealed her legs when she walked.  It was paired with golden strappy heels.

“You will be able to walk in these?” Aurora had asked her, holding up the heels and waving them in Belle’s face.

Belle had laughed with her sisters, “I know, I know, I usually wear army boots.  But I think I’ll be able to walk in these without twisting my ankle,” she had promised.

To help her get ready, Ariel had burnished and curled Belle’s brunette locks and these now hung in shining ringlets around her face and down her neck.  She wore no jewelry. 

It was almost time to go and by now, Belle was having to take frequent deep breaths.  She was quite uncomfortable at these large gatherings and would have been happy to exchange positions with any one of her sisters.  In fact, she offered each of them the opportunity to take her place but they shook their heads, reminding Belle that Mother Superior had wanted her to go, not one of them. 

Belle arrived, not early, but not late.  After going through the iron and silver gates that barred entrance into the property _feeling the sickening spidery prickling of the thick wards assessing her as she stepped across the threshold_ , she stopped and looked around.  The grounds were painstakingly landscaped with grass so plush that it could have been carpet.  And there were graceful trees and manicured red rose bushes aplenty scattered all around that would offer cover if someone wanted to leave and not be noticed _or sneak up on the house without being seen._

She looked up at the building that was Cora’s home.  It had been constructed of white marble and was quite grand.  The building was lit from ground lights and shone like a luminescent pearl against the black night.  Many windows, many doors, all for easy access . . . or for egress.  Opulence and wealth were all around her; it was overt and obvious, meant to be intimidating.

Doormen directed her to the dinner venue.  It was set in a great glittering hall with tables placed throughout and a long dais set at the head of the room.  Belle again took a moment to look around.  The ceiling had been draped with tulle and tiny lights.  There were large bouquets of red roses set along the perimeter of the room, set between the large floor-to-ceiling windows that were evenly placed along two of the walls.  Each of the many tables was covered with a snowy white tablecloth and adorned with gold place settings.  Each table also had a small golden vase with several red roses placed in the center.   It was all quite beautiful, a display of wealth and implied power.

The hostess, a striking redhead, in a dark green velvet dress, had quickly spotted Belle.  Cora Mills dropped the petty functionary with whom she had been conversing and immediately approached her.  “You must be Belle French,” she greeted the younger woman.  “Rheul described you and said you’d be wearing a gold dress.”  She seemed quite happy to meet Belle in lieu of Rheul.  Cora Mills walked around her, her cold eyes examining the younger woman.

“Quite a pretty thing you are, my dear.  Rheul tells me that you are her most talented warrior.  She has great hopes for you.  You will be at Table Seven, my dear.  I think you will find the others at that table very interesting.”  Cora gave her a smile, one that didn’t quite seem sincere before moving on to her next guest.

Belle briefly wandered the room continuing to check out exits and entrances _just in case, her hunter instincts heightened by the closed-in place with the many people, most of whom were discreetly armed._ _She herself had a stiletto on one thigh and scalpel-sized dagger in her cleavage. It was not easy to distinguish who was shark and who was chum in this gathering._ She did not see anyone else she knew or rather did not see anyone else who knew her. There were plenty of people there that she knew by reputation, a least a couple of bishops from the Church, representatives from other Covens, rogue magicians, independent sorcerers, and stray wizards, all intermixing among the other attendees that she had no idea of who or what they might be. 

She found her way to Table Seven and saw that there was already a nameplate with her name _rather than Rheul’s._   Cora was nothing if not efficient.

Belle switched the plates so that her back would not be to the main door and sat down.  She took a glass of champagne from one of the many waiters who were passing through the crowd. 

She looked at the other nameplates for those at her table.  There was a Zelena Mills, whom she assumed was someone related to Cora.  There was a Robert Locksley.  She didn’t know him. There was an R. V. Stiltskin.  She had no idea who he might be.  There were also a Ruby Lucas and an Augustus Booth.  No idea on either of them.

She’d had been there only a moment when she was joined by a second table member.  She sat down with a flourish -- a leggy brunette who wore a deep red dress, very short and very low cut.  It showed off the other woman’s ample physical charms.   

“Wow, is this an over-the-top group or what?” she asked Belle brightly.  “Hi, I’m Ruby,” she announced and held out her hand.  “First time here for me.  How about you?”

“First time,” Belle confirmed shaking the proffered hand.  “I’m Belle,” she introduced herself. 

“Are you comfortable sharing why you’re here?” Ruby asked and then immediately went on.  “I’m a shapeshifter.  We’re new to all this.”

“I’m a hunter,” Belle told her.

“Really?! I suspect that we might have some complimentary talents.  If we ever worked together we’d probably be pretty bad-ass.”

“Perhaps that’s why we were put at the same table,” Belle speculated finding herself liking the friendly shapeshifter.

“Maybe so,” Ruby readily agreed.  “I saw you checking out the exits earlier.”

“And trying to guess how many of these people are armed,” Belle admitted to her.

Ruby laughed, “I know I am and . . .” she smiled at Belle, “so are you.”

Belle nodded.

“My day job is bartending at the Mad Hatter, although maybe I should call it my night job,” Ruby corrected herself, continuing to chatter.  

Before Belle could respond, they were joined by a pleasant, attractive man with sandy blond hair and dark blue eyes.  He too had glanced around several times, carefully assessing what he was putting his back to.  He sat down at the Robert Locksley place at the table between Belle and Ruby and then nodded at the two women, “Ladies.”

They smiled back at him and introduced themselves.  Mr. Locksley was open and gregarious.  He was also a hunter, more specifically an archer.  Not much for close in-fighting. 

As they chatted about the likely menu for this year’s production, Belle began to realize who _what_  Mr. Locksley was.  The man had a distinctive aura; his magic, like Ruby’s, tasted differently to her.  Whereas Ruby’s was earthy, like a mushroom, his was like air after a lightning strike.

“You’re not just an archer.  You have . . . _something._ A magical weapon?” Belle asked him softly so that only he could hear her.  She could see the particular pulsing threads of blue magic staining mostly on his fingers.  Almost certainly residual from handling An Artifact.

Mr. Locksley looked hard at Belle.  “I do, but I trust you understand that information is very confidential.  There are very, very few who know about my weapon.”

“Count me as one of those who doesn’t know.  What kinda weapon?” Ruby asked.  _She must have hearing like a dog, Belle realized._

Belle looked at Robert who sighed.  He explained to Ruby, “An arrow that never misses its target.”

“Never?” Ruby said in awe.

Robert shook his head, “Never.  If I can see the target, the arrow will find its way.”

“Will it work for anyone or just for you?” Ruby asked.

“Just for me, right now,” Robert told her.  “It worked for my father and grandfather and I suspect it will work for my son when he’s older.”

“So it’s a family thing,” Belle observed and she smiled at the man.  _On a gut level, she liked this man.  He seemed insightful and clever. And, somehow she thought, trustworthy._

Augustus Booth was next to join them.

“No,” he said immediately as he sat down.  “No, I have no idea why I’m here.  I’m just a writer, a recorder of events,” he told them all.  “And very overwhelmed at the rather powerful company I’ve been thrust into here.”

“What do you write, Mr. Booth?” Ruby asked him.

“Mystery horror.  I keep accounts of actual events but write them as fiction.  I work,” he dropped his voice, “for The Archivist.”  Augustus referred to the shadowy librarian of the Akashic records.

Belle was immediately interested.  “I’ve tried several times to contact The Archivist.”

Augustus shook his head.  “The Archivist contacts me – different ways, never me contacting him . . . or her . . . or it.”

“But this is clever, what you do,” Ruby observed.  “You create records for those able to recognize such things. You write what appears to be fiction, but what you write is actually non-fiction.”

“It’s a way of keeping track of how some things can be destroyed, not to mention what’s out there.”  He lowered his voice.  “And there is Something Big, I mean _big_ that is brewing. I can’t get any details but I know when someone like Cora Mills is worried, it’s time for the rest of us to get worried.”

Belle was intrigued.  _Cora Mills was worried?  After her own experiences, what Rheul had said, she knew something was up._ She turned her attention to the woman in green who was now sitting at the main table. 

The woman didn’t look worried – she looked supremely self-confident, one of the most self-assured people Belle had ever met. Belle had done a little research and she now knew the woman was a brilliant and powerful practitioner, although there was a persistent rumor that Cora was neck-deep into the Dark Arts. Belle’s sisters had gossiped that the woman was known for her voracious appetites and Belle couldn’t stop herself from wondering how many of the men (and women) in the room Cora had been partnered with at one time or another. 

Belle looked at the other two at the table.  Robert and Ruby were shaking their heads. 

“Not heard of anything coming down.”

“No rumors that I’ve picked up on.”

Belle didn’t say anything at first and everyone at the table turned to her.  “Maybe a couple of rumors that something is up, but no specifics.”

It was then that a statuesque redhead flounced in and took a seat at the table dejectedly.  Zelena Mills.

“Well, it looks like Mother put me at the nerd table,” she said, signaling the waiter for a glass of champagne.

“Miss Mills.  Nice to meet you too,” said Ruby.  Zelena made no reply as she huffed and shifted in her seat.  They were seated Zelena, Augustus, Belle, Robert, Ruby and the empty seat.  The wait staff was beginning to serve the first course, a simple lettuce-based salad with nuts and berries.  Diners had their choice of dressing. 

“Mother obviously has some grudge against me and this is how she gets back at me.  I should be sitting at the head table or with some of the fabulously rich guests or, at least, some of the interesting artists,” Zelena was still grumbling. She glared at the group around Table Seven. 

“Where is this Stiltskin character?” Augustus asked.  “You think he decided he was too good to join us?”

“Who knows?” Robert answered him.  “Never heard of him anyway.  R. V. Stiltskin.  Anyone heard of him?”

Everyone shook their heads except Zelena.  She shared what she knew with some relish, “It’s _Count,_ Count Rumple Von Stiltskin.  He’s some big shot demon hunter from Europe.  That’s what I heard.”  She had already finished her first glass of champagne and was trying to get a waiter’s attention for a second glass.

_Demon hunter? From Europe.  Belle stifled shivers._

_It couldn’t be._

_But if it was . . ._

_Well, he probably wasn’t going to show up._

The salad course was half over when Cora got everyone’s attention from the head table.  She stood at a raised podium.

“I want to thank everyone for coming,” she bathed the assemblage in a brilliant smile.  “Some of us have already experienced loss and tragedy,” and she nodded at one group.  Belle, recognizing their charms and amulets, knew them to be practitioners of Vodun, a group that often interacted with demonic forces.   They had an empty chair draped in black at their table. 

Cora continued, “I can tell you that this is fast becoming a difficult time for many of us.  Something that has not been seen in a thousand years is coming upon us yet again.  Tonight is, I hope, the first of many such gatherings where we can meet those of different disciplines, different skills, different abilities from our own.  We need to learn about each other, respect what others can do.  We must. . . we must learn to work together if we want to survive.  I created the _Schutz Auftrag_ , the Protection League, for those of you interested in . . .” she paused and smiled again, “for those of you interested in being on the winning side.  I will be contacting you.  Be ready.”  She smiled again and sat down.

“Mommy dearest,” Zelena muttered.  “Always gloom and doom.  So boring.”

Belle shook her head, “Oh, I don’t know.  She sounds a bit like my Mother Superior.  She keeps hinting that it’s always possible for this Great Darkness to arise and we should all be keeping prepared for the Apocalypse.”

Zelena pulled a face.  “That’s how they keep you in line.  If there wasn’t a threat, then you’d be able to go off and party and have a good time instead of spending countless hours studying and working out in the gym.”

“Perhaps.  But I’d rather be prepared and find out it wasn’t necessary than the reverse.”

Zelena rolled her eyes.  She might have said something but the waiter had deposited a second glass of champagne in front of her. 

The salad plates were being collected and the entrees presented. 

As she looked over her fish, Belle abruptly became aware that everything in the great dining hall had become suddenly silent and still and when she looked up, she saw that everyone at her table was looking behind her.  Someone had come in, entering through one of the over-sized windows, not the main entrance.  _She felt an odd, uncomfortable sensation, like ants with spiked shoes crawling up her spine._

“Wow,” she heard Ruby say.

“Oh, I’ll second that,” Zelena muttered.

She assumed it was the tardy Stiltskin and suppressed the desire to turn toward the latecomer.  _It wasn’t going to be him.  It wasn’t going to be him._ She caught a quick glance of the newcomer as he walked by. 

Not him, she told herself relaxing. 

What she could see was that this man was dressed impeccably – a designer, well-fitted tuxedo with a dark shirt _not leather pants, no blatant display of weapons_.  The impressions came quickly – the man was compact, powerful.  And now there was a scent that her hunter instincts picked up on.  It seemed . . . familiar.  When he sat down across from her, between Ruby and Zelena, he looked up . . .  and their eyes locked.

“You!” they both said at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Belle learns more about the Gray Hunter. The Gray Hunter attempts an apology.


	4. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Count shares a little.  
> Belle gets an apology.

_Belle has (mostly) recovered from her encounter with The Gray Hunter and, at the request of her Mother Superior, now finds herself at a gala where she meets other practitioners.  The meal has progressed and a latecomer has arrived._

The man, elegantly dressed, sat down and looked up, his eyes locking with hers.

“You!” they both said at the same time.

“You two know each other?” Ruby asked immediately.

“I spent the other night tied to his bed,” Belle spat out.  She had pushed back from the table. 

“Reeeally?!” both Ruby and Zelena had exclaimed.

“The lady is quite correct,” Stiltskin confirmed.  The group turned their attention to him.  “I had caught her . . .  trespassing and she was . . . uncooperative.  I had to . . .  question her.”

“I was not trespassing!  I was on public property!  You had no right to drag me into your Church and interrogate me!”  Belle was struggling not to raise her voice and knew she likely sounded as if she was hissing.  She was debating on getting up and leaving _stomping out_.  But, she knew Rheul was counting on her to attend this dinner and she didn’t want to create a scene – well, a bigger scene than the one she was creating right now.

“Tell me,” Zelena was nearly purring as she leaned into the Count (she had already put a hand on his arm), “Do you often find it necessary to tie women to your bed?  I would think that most would be there quite willingly.”

“I find my job does not often allow me the luxury of keeping female company,” he replied, letting the waiter know that he was the one who required the special meal rather than the fish or the steak.

“Too bad,” Zelena told him, her hand now resting on his thigh. 

“What is your job?” Ruby asked, going right to point.

“I work for the Church,” the man replied.

Zelena pulled back.  “You’re not a priest?”  _The man didn’t look like a priest.  He certainly didn’t dress like a priest._

“No,” Stiltskin answered shortly.  He was still watching Belle from across the table. She was glaring at him but hadn’t bolted.  _Brave girl._

_Of course, she would bolt if she ever discovered that she was the only reason he’d agreed to attend this stupid affair.  He had, in fact, persuaded Father Archie to visit with Cora, calling in several favors to get her to pressure Mother Rheul to send the girl.  Rumple wanted to . . . had to . . .  see her again.  She kept playing out in his dreams and somehow, he had begun to think she was the Important Someone that he’d been told about._

_His eyes had flickered over her.  She looked nice in the little gold dress. Really nice.  He was trying to figure out where she had managed to hide some weapons so that they didn’t show in the form-fitting dress.  He was sure she had weapons on her._

“What do you do for the Church?” Locksley asked him.  _If the man wasn’t a priest, what was he?_

Pulled away from his reverie, Stiltskin answered shortly, “At the moment, I’m a Special Envoy of the Holy Office of The Question.”

Belle’s wine glass shattered in her hand. 

Everyone at the table turned to look at her.  She had turned ashen.  She had wine and blood spilling down her hand, the shards of the glass lying near her place at the table. 

“You’re with _The Inquisition?”_ she demanded to know.  She had already known that the Gray Hunters were employed by the Church _and backed by all the resources of the Church_ to hunt all creatures of magic.  But she had not grasped just how important to the Church they were.  They were on the Front Line, Holy Mother Goddess, they _were_ the Front Line against the Darkness.

Stiltskin broke eye contact with Belle.  “Well, we don’t call it that anymore,” he said dryly.

“But it’s the same thing!” she retorted.  Everyone else at the table had pulled back from the Count except Zelena.

“My, my, The Inquisition.  So, do you do, like, torture and stuff trying to identify witches?”  Zelena asked him, leaning into him.

He glanced at her, his eyes taking in her voluptuous form.  “I do,” he told her, “if it is necessary. In your case . . . I wouldn’t need to do that to make the determination.” he finished, giving her a slight sneer before turning his attention back to Belle.  “Do you need help with that?” he gestured to the blood still seeping from her hand but before she could answer, he had waved his hand and the bleeding had stopped.  More astonishing, the cuts had healed so that her hand was now unblemished.

Belle was momentarily stunned and stymied.  She was surprised and knew she should be grateful for his healing her (although it was his fault she had been injured to begin with).  She, however, was still furious with the man and sat staring daggers at him, obviously debating if she was going to remain in the same room.  She was so furious that she was visibly trembling. 

“So you hunt down Creatures of Darkness and . . .  dispatch them?” Augustus asked Stiltskin.

Without taking his eyes off of Belle, Stiltskin nodded.  “It’s my job to do so.”

“Creatures of Darkness?  Hmmm,” Ruby began.  “Does that include shapeshifters?”

“It might,” he answered without looking at Ruby.

“How about those that can manipulate magical artifacts?” Locksley asked him.

“Perhaps.  My employer gives me my assignments.  And when I’m given the job by my employer, then I put forth all my efforts and energies toward doing the job,” Stiltskin answered.  “But I don’t go looking for trouble.” 

Locksley shifted nervously and glanced at Ruby who shook her head.

“Have you ever missed?” Augustus asked him.

There was a pause.  “Not often, but yes. On occasion. One time. Recently.  Someone got to the Creature before I did.  The job was done but I didn’t do it.”  He gave Belle a faint glimpse of a smile and raised his water glass to her.  She sat back in her chair not smiling back at him, her eyes narrowing.

His entrée arrived at that moment.  It was obviously different from everyone else’s at the table -- a bowl of brown rice and a side of sautéed greens while everyone else got the fish and a baked potato or the steak and a baked potato.  He drank water while they drank wine. 

“I wouldn’t have picked you for a vegetarian,” Zelena purred.  She didn’t seem to have any fear of the man and was continually fawning into his space. 

“I take so many lives that this helps me reach a balance,” he told her.

“You don’t drink either, I see,” Zelena acutely observed.

He shook his head.  “When I’m hunting, I don’t indulge in frivolous activities or sensual pleasures.”

Zelena now had her hand on his arm.  She put her lips close to his ear.  “Tell me again.  Does that include avoiding the sensual pleasures of the flesh?” she asked forthrightly and her hand drifted across his chest.  “I would think a man of such an intense temperament would need some . . . release.”

He turned slightly to look at her.  “It would include avoiding the pleasures of the flesh,” he confirmed.

Zelena did not appear to have been deterred.  She had somehow managed to drape herself over the man who was clearly not responding to her overt solicitations.

“But that’s just when you’re hunting, right?  And when you’re not hunting? Surely during those times, you might _indulge_ ,” she persisted and now her hand was running up and down his arm.  “Perhaps when it’s not Lent or some high holy Church holiday?”

He looked down at her hand and set one of his own hands over hers.  He looked her directly in the eye.  “I persistently fight against sinful activities and sinful thoughts, madame.”  And he lifted her hand up from his chest and returned it to her place at the table.

He then addressed himself to his meal. 

For her part, Belle’s appetite had disappeared and she found herself pushing food around on her plate.

Augustus made another attempt to engage the Count in conversation.  “I imagine you’ve had some interesting adventures.”

“I have,” the Count responded.

“What was the most memorable creature you came up against?”

The Count considered.  “Most recently it was a young practitioner of arcane magic.  She was unexpectedly very strong, very clever and very lucky.”

“How you take her down?” Augustus asked.

“I didn’t.  She ultimately managed to slip through my fingers.”

“Are you still in pursuit of her?” Augustus was taking notes on a napkin.

“Definitely.  We have . . . unfinished business.”

Belle could feel heat in the man’s gaze and his voice as he spoke in oblique terms about her.  

It was time for the dessert course, but the Count addressed the group at the table.  “I believe I have overstayed my welcome and I shall be departing before dessert.”  He stood giving the group a short bow and gave Belle his almost smile.  He then left.

“Well, that was rude,” Zelena remarked.

“What?  It was hard for the man to eat with you nearly sitting in his lap,” Ruby told her.   “Surprised you didn’t just sliiiide under the table and go down on him right here in front of God and half of Georgia.”

“Well, he was hot,” Zelena protested.  “I’m not buying all that ‘persistently fighting sin’ garbage either.  Tell me that man isn’t doing it with someone.”  She looked down at Belle.  “I can promise you that he’d never have to tie me to his bed.”

Belle looked away.  She didn’t know what to think.  _If she were honest with herself (and she usually was) she thought the man was, well, if not attractive, at least interesting (Who was she kidding?  He was definitely attractive).  But he also set her on edge.  She knew first hand that he was violent and unpredictable.  He was a serious enemy of her people, of most – all -- of the people that had sat at her table, that were in attendance at this dinner.  If he was ordered to do so, he would probably slice their throats without a second thought._

She barely touched the remainder of her meal, the food tasting like ashes to her.  She was past ready to go and was grateful when Cora passed out suggested assignments to the dinner guests and the event finally started to break up.  She stood and was heading toward the nearest exit when she was intercepted by Cora Mills, who was carrying some beverage of choice.  “I understand you had met the Count previously.”

“We’ve crossed . . .  paths,” Belle told her. 

“He’s . . . interesting, don’t you think?” Cora asked her, watching the younger woman closely.

“Dangerous,” Belle told her.

“Uhmmm,” Cora considered.  “I was surprised that he showed up.  He’s usually very unsociable.  Well, that and he’s a former lover of mine and things didn’t end especially well between us.”  She took a drink. “You know, his family is one of the three original _Sabbatarians_ , The Gray Hunters, selected for the job of fighting ultimate evil.  They go back thousands of years. I understand that Rumple’s often been called the Dark One, because of his lethality and sheer savagery.  He probably has more kills that the other Hunters put together.”

“Does he now?” Belle responded stifling the urge to shiver.

“Do you know much about his kind?” Cora asked.

“A little.  Mother Rheul suspected that he was one of The Gray Hunters.  She told me they had been selected by the Church to fight evil,” she responded.

Cora might have been miffed that Rheul had guessed the man’s identify.  She went on, “They pre-date the Church, my dear.  They are very long-lived creatures, likely not wholly human. They are known to go after not only the forces of darkness, but also the fae, white witches and kind coven members.  They have strong powerful magic of their own and are considered very, very dangerous.”

Privately Belle thought that Cora might well thrive on _dangerous_.  Maybe they’d renew their relationship and she’d keep him busy _and away from me, Belle thought_.  She smiled at Cora, “Mother Rheul thought, since his business was completed, that he might have already left the area.”

Cora smirked, “I guess he still has unfinished business.”

_Belle might have sighed.  Part of her was hoping that whatever unfinished business the Gray Hunter had, it had nothing to do with her._

_But she knew better._

**Borderland Undertown**

It had rained again.  While often in town rain would make everything smell washed and clean, here in the Borderland Undertown, things would be left with the faint scent of malicious mold.  Walking along the uneven streets and walkways was always a mild challenge, but when things were wet, as they were now, they became treacherously slippery.  Belle was watching her footing as she crept along.  Tonight she wore black pants with thigh harnesses and a close-fitting brown leather jacket.  She carried a sword openly at her side.

Even knowing that he was almost certainly still in town, Belle had not encountered _him_ again on her forays into the streets.  It had been over a week since the disastrous dinner and she was gaining confidence that he was engaged elsewhere. She had gradually decreased her hypervigilance.  If he was still lingering in the area, she hoped he was patrolling some other alley.  Of course, she hoped, that he had really gone, perhaps he had been called out to some other hot spot and was long gone, really gone.

She could only hope.

S _he was still having dreams about the man, her smothering dreams having been replaced by her traitorous body now relishing the closeness of their night spent together.  She would find herself savoring the strength in his arms and the heat of his body. Instead of feeling terrified, there was a feeling of empowerment when she would become aware of the effect she had produced in the man’s body.  She well remembered the hard length of him pressed into her back that morning._

_Belle had taken to dropping by The Mad Hatter and having a few drinks served by bartender Ruby who was clearly in awe of her ability to toke down alcohol.  Belle had been able to share with the shapeshifter her convoluted, confused, mixed feelings about the Hunter.  Ruby was way more experienced with men and had reassured her that her response was very natural._

_“The man is hot.  And the fact he’d overpowered you but didn’t rape you despite having a woody on for you, you’re now all conflicted.  He obviously liked you, or at least he’s a functioning male, but he’s not a complete animal and restrained himself – for whatever reason.  So underneath all the machismo, he’s a nice guy. . .  or, at least, a decent guy.  Hey, you don’t think he’s put some sort of spell on you, do you?” Ruby had asked, her eyes widening._

_“A spell,” Belle had shaken her head.  But . . . yet . . . perhaps a spell would make sense.  It would explain her response to him, the constant thoughts she seemed to be having about the man, the dreams, the hot, satisfying dreams she was having._

_“There’s no such thing as a Love Spell,” she told the weregirl._

_“What Love Spell?” Ruby had asked.  “I’m talking Lust Spell.  There are such things as Lust Spells.  Hell, we sell many potions that act as Lust Spells right here in this bar.  They’re called ‘alcohol.’”_

_Ruby had then told her to enjoy her wet dreams and to quit feeling guilty about them.  “They’re just dreams.”_

Now on routine patrol on the wet evening, Belle had been searching around for vermin for a couple of hours, not having any luck, when an odd sense came over her.  She stopped and sniffed the air.  It was a touch bitter, but somehow spicy and very, very masculine and . . . alluring . . . and dangerous, all at the same time.

 _Darn._ Of course.  It was _him, she knew it was him._ She scanned the shadows but was unable to catch any glimpse of the man.

“I thought you’d be long gone by now,” she addressed the empty air. She wasn’t feeling brave but was certainly trying to appear as such. _Do the brave thing and bravery will follow._   She hadn’t spotted him yet, but she certainly continued to sense him.  _She wasn’t going to run away or quail in fear – it was likely foolhardy on her part but she refused to be cowed by him._

There was a moment of silence before he stepped out from the wet shadows.  She took a sharp breath and, unable to stop herself, she stepped back.  _She had looked where he had been and just seen right through him._   _Did he have the power of invisibility among his other talents?_

“No such luck,” he told her softly.  _He was surprised she’d known he was there.  He must be slipping._

“You planning on dragging me back to your room tonight?” she asked him, half expecting him to say ‘yes.’

 _Did he actually smile?   No, probably not._ “No, dearie.  Father Archie is satisfied that you are a Child of The Light, although not a daughter of the True Church.  Unless I am specifically ordered to eliminate you or you’re misguided enough to interfere with me, I will not impede you in your work.”

“Great,” she told him and warily walked around him.  His eyes lingered over her, approving of her clothing, how it showed off her sweet curvy figure.

“Not having any luck tonight are you?” he asked.  He stepped in alongside her as she began walking on, surprising her.

“How did . . . No, not much,” she told him honestly.  “I figure that it’s just an off night.”

“It’s me,” he told her.  “The little ones can sense me and they cower in the corners.  You will not find any of them out tonight.”

She had kept walking and he had fallen a bit behind.  She sighed.  “So, I guess I’ll just give it up and go home.”

“Perhaps, but I would appreciate it if you might,” he hesitated, “ if you would get a drink with me,” he said softly.

She stopped and turned to look back at him.  “You’re asking me out?” she was stunned.

Before she could answer, he reached for her and pulled her toward him. 

Her initial response had been to strike out at him but then she felt him pulling, then pushing her to get her behind himself.  He stepped around her and she saw he had his blade out and was slashing.  She turned, and catching sight of _something,_ she pulled out one of her own weapons, the sword, and swiped at the wicked thing that was attacking him, winding a sinuous tentacle wrapping around his leg.    As he slashed again, she pulled a stiletto knife and began to stab with her other hand, working close to the ground while he hacked and sliced above her head.  There seemed to be multiple arms reaching out and grabbing them both, around their legs, their arms, trying to get around their bodies.  At one point, he cut off an appendage that was wrapped around one of her arms. Another time, she slashed viciously, slicing and tearing a tentacle that was twining around his thigh.   As he closed in on the center point of the creature, there was a screeching sound and an eerie warning came from the creature.

“You will both die.  They are coming for you,” the thing whispered just as the Count made his final coup.  The creature began to dissolve.

“What . . . was that?” she asked, standing up and stepping back, cleaning off the odd green globs on her blades and her body.

“An _Erde-Krake_.  It's like, uh . . .  I guess I might call it a land-octopus.  They hide in cracks in the sidewalks and the walls of buildings.  They slither like snakes and suffocate their victims.  I haven’t seen one in . . .  a long time.”  He wiped his own blade off and smiled at her.  “We make a good team, Miss French.” 

She was regaining her breath but had to agree with him.  She didn’t pull back when he reached for her hair, using his fingers to comb out entrails.  “We did all right,” she admitted reluctantly. 

“Now, where were we?  Oh yes, you had agreed to get a drink with me,” he told her, picking up with their conversation as if they hadn’t just been viciously attacked.

“No, you had just asked me to get a drink.  I hadn’t said yes.  I thought you didn’t drink?”  She started walking again, still scanning the streets, the corners, still hunting.  He followed her, also watching.

“This morning I was officially notified that I am no longer on Hunt.  I don’t have a new assignment yet.  I am, for however brief a time, free to indulge.  And bars are all that are open at this hour.  Will you?” he asked, offering her his arm, assuming she would say yes.

Oh, she so wanted to tell him to go drop dead, that no, of course, she wouldn’t get a drink or anything else with him . . . not tonight, not ever, not if he were the last Gray Hunter on earth _which if she understood anything about the man, he just might be_.  But she found herself taking his arm and walking along with him.

“I think I may owe you an apology, Miss French.  Father Archie has been lecturing me that this is not the sixteen hundreds and I cannot just take a young woman off the street and tie her to my bed.  I confess I don’t completely understand but the good father has been quite adamant.”

“So you’re apologizing?” she asked him. She wasn’t quite sure if he was.

“Yes.  I’m sorry I took you off the street and tied you to my bed,” he told her, making his apology clear.

“Well, all right then.  Apology accepted,” she told him.  _This was unexpected._

“Although I don’t think you entirely objected to my actions,” he told her.

She stopped walking and sputtered, “Wh . . . what?!”

“You were wet,” he told her a faint, self-satisfied smirk shadowing his face.  “I checked in the morning -- between your legs.  You were aroused.”

She released his arm and stepped back from him about to protest, about to tell him what a complete loser he was.  But he was too quick and he caught her by her arms and pushed her against the wall, trapping her between the bricks and his body.

“I felt you, dearie.  You were not in distress.  You enjoyed it. You enjoyed being in my bed.”

“I’ve changed my mind about that drink,” she told him, not struggling, feeling that a forceful response from her would trigger a greater show of force from him – and she already knew that he was far stronger than she was.

He didn’t let her go. “There is some strange connection between us.  I don’t understand it, but I have not been able to let you go.”  She was able to see that his eyes had turned black; if she had been able to pull away from him, she would have.  The man frightened her. 

He leaned in, his lips next to her ear and he spoke softly and slowly, “I think it possible that you have put a spell on me.  I keep thinking about you.  I keep having dreams about you,” he confessed. 

He closed his eyes and then, opening them, he continued, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have restrained myself that morning, that morning when I had you tied to my bed.  Perhaps I just need to have you and get you out of my system.” 

She could now feel his breath on her cheek.  She could feel the heat, the scalding heat coming off his body.  She could feel hard things, his weapons, his body, parts of his body, pressing into her.

“You’re enjoying this,” he whispered, his face so close to hers, his lips so close to hers.  “Me holding you . . . like this.  Up against the wall, pressing into you.” 

“I am not!” she told him. 

“Your pupils are dilated and I don’t think you’re afraid.  I would venture that if I were to put my hand between your legs, I would find that you’re ready for me.  I can smell you.”  He didn’t seem happy.  He frowned.  “I should have known, you’re like all women,” he continued. “You just want to seduce a man, take his power, devour his energies.” 

Belle felt as if he had doused her with cold water.  She might have slapped him across his smug expression if she’d had a free hand.  “You’re a jerk,” she told him.  He regarded her coldly and abruptly stepped back, releasing her. She moved away from him as quickly as she could, stalking off, leaving the area. 

He watched her stalk off, no doubt returning to the perceived safety of her little coven’s convent.

_What the hell was wrong with him?  Why had he said what he had? Done what he did?  He could have had her company, perhaps quite pleasant company, for an hour or two.  She was warming up to him, he could tell.  But then he had to fuck it up.  He had gotten angry – old memories rising up to taunt him – and then he had lashed out and insulted her, basically accusing her of being a whore._

_What the hell was wrong with him?_

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he startled when he heard a voice echoing his thoughts.

He gave a glance to his side and quickly recognized the svelte dark figure lounging against the wall, standing next to him.   _The figure dripped dark magic, black magic, blood magic.  Any other creature of this ilk would be an instant target for him, but not this one, not this particular creature._

The dark figure continued, “She would have gone off with you for that drink, hell, maybe even thrown you a pity-fuck.  ‘Course, maybe it’s just as well.  You would have had to go to confession tomorrow morning and tell that young priest that you’d fucked a fairy.”

“How are you Princess?” he bowed while he addressed the vampire standing next to him.


	5. Suppositions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple begins to suspect that Belle may be more than she appears to be.  
> Belle struggles to recover from her unpleasant encounter with the Gray Hunter.

_Both Belle and the Gray Hunter are struggling with their growing attraction to each other (and have explained it away by concluding that they’ve each been put under a spell by the other).  Belle has learned that the Gray Hunter is a powerful emissary of the Church and an enemy to all the forces of darkness.  He has sought her out while she hunts and made an apology for his previous behavior, but then promptly he has insulted her, accusing her of trying to steal his power.  The Hunter allows Belle to leave and then he immediately encounters a dark entity._

“How are you Princess?” he addressed the vampire standing next to him.

“Better than you,” she told him. 

He looked at the woman, clothed all in tight fitting black leather, her pale blonde hair done up in a severe style, her skin pale, her lips crimson.

“I like you better with your hair down,” he told her.

“That’s how I wore it when I was with Bae.  He liked it that way,” she said sadly.  “He’s gone.”

“Why are you here?” he asked.  “Not to spy on my poor attempts at coercing female companionship, I’m sure.”

“The conference, Cora’s conference.  She has invited my people.  We, of course, had the good taste not to attend the dinner she hosted.”

The Count made a short sound that might have been a chuckle.  “Not much for you to eat there.”

The woman gave him a soft smile.  “Actually quite a lot, but nothing that was officially on the menu.” 

“So, are the Vampir uniting with Children of the True Church, the Witchkin, the Fae, the Half-Human, and sundry practioners of obscure arts in opposition to the Shadow That is Rising?” he asked.

“Thinking about it,” she replied.

“I would think you would be playing on the Shadow’s team,” he told her honestly.  “Being Creatures of the Night and all.”

“You’d think.  But this thing threatens to bring a Great Darkness, the End of the World.  And I, like most of my kind, think that now, right now, it’s better, much better for us to be out-numbered by humans. And humans thrive in the light.  If it comes to pass that there are more of us than humans, then  . . . well, we’ll have nothing to drink.”

“Something to be said for that position,” he conceded.

“So tell me about your little fairy,” she asked.

“You think she’s fairy?” he asked.  He already knew she wasn’t fully human and had known there were Ethereal blood lines, but had not specifically suspected fairy.

The vampire shook her head.  She seemed puzzled.  “She’s got fairy blood, no question, at least a little of such.  Her lineage is, I suspect, quite complicated.  There’s Hunter blood there too, definitely.  Dhampir also.”

“Really?”  This caught his attention.  This he had not expected to hear, but he respected the vampire’s insights knowing that through her ability to smell blood she could recognize different folk.    “She’s certainly not related to my bloodline.  I’m pretty sure she’s not part of the Van Helsing family.  They always played it pretty close and they’re all gone now.”  He considered.  There were only two other possibilities. “Is she one of the Belmonts?”

 _They were known to play fast and loose with others and had never been shy about sleeping with friends or enemies or even chance acquaintances.  Simon had always been particularly attractive to members of the fair sex and there was no telling how many strays and by-blows he was responsible for. The mixed inheritance spoke for her being one of the Belmonts_.

He thought a moment longer and mulled over the other possibility. “Could she be one of the Morris family?” he asked himself as much as the vampire; he referenced the family that had last intermarried with the Belmonts and had stepped up to inherit their legacy when the last of the Belmont scions had expired.  He shook his head, “I thought all those had passed too.”

“I have no idea,” the vampire told him, shrugging.  “I can just smell it.”

“She did carry The Flail,” he added.  _A valuable artifact that he now held in custody. Maybe she had obtained it legitimately, perhaps even through her mother.  She might have been telling him the truth before._

“Belmont’s Flail?  Ah, then that’s the power I was feeling before.  It’s gone now,” the vampire shared.

“I have it,” he admitted.

“You should probably give it back to her.  I think she has the lineage to lay legitimate claim to it,” the vampire observed.

“Do you think she knows?” he asked her.

“How would I know?  And why would I care?”  The vampire waved him off.

“I don’t know,” he answered irritably.  “Perhaps she was orphaned young and Rheul has kept the truth from her.  Hell, maybe Rheul doesn’t know.  There’s no accounting for fairy-decision making.”  He sighed.  _Maybe Rheul was trying to protect her, not burden her with the knowledge that she was the last of one of the ancient families of Vampire Hunters – if any of that was even true._ “I grew up knowing exactly who I was.  I can’t imagine if I hadn’t found out until I was in my twenties what my heritage was, how that would have affected me.”

The woman laughed, “Oh dear Rumple, I’m afraid you were destined to be fucked up no matter what.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed.  “Now are you going to be hunting here yourself?

She shook her head.  “I don’t think so.  I know that would put you in an awkward position.”

“It would.  I’d just as soon not stick a stake into the heart of my daughter-in-law,” he said. 

“Former daughter-in-law,” she corrected him.

He smiled at her.  “Emma, I still think of you as family.  I will always think of you as family,” he told her. 

“Love you too.  Take care of yourself,” she nodded and faded into the shadows.

Stiltskin knew he should have tried to take her out, but he just couldn’t muster the focus.  He cared about Emma, despite what had happened to her. 

Most people were unrecognizable after The Change, retaining only the most minimal vestiges of the person they had been before – like what had happened with his Milah.   But Emma – Emma had somehow retained much of herself, whether through some pureness of spirit or other quality, he didn't know.  She was reasonably moral as the Vampir went, as long as you didn’t get between her and her food.  She only fed when she was hungry and didn’t kill or turn her prey.  Most remembered their time with her as a pleasant experience.

He knew he couldn’t say such things about others of her kind.  Vampires were not generally kind to their victims, taking their blood, their virtue, even their lives.   

And now, the vampires were considering aligning themselves with the Light.  Most unusual.  It spoke volumes about the nature of the Shadow That was Rising.

But . . . somehow he doubted their allegiance to the Light.  This was part of some greater plan.  Vampires never did things simply. 

**Back to the Bar**

Belle was trembling.  She had, for the briefest moment, thought the Hunter might be a decent human being beneath all the bluster and hubris.  Then he’d been insulting, really insulting. 

 _What Belle?  The man was right.  You_ were _wet after the night in his bed.  And tonight, you were aroused by his backing you against the wall and pressing his body against yours.  You are attracted to the man, despite, no, perhaps_ because _of the darkness that is in him.  You would have cheerfully and willingly given it up for him if he’d pressed you. As much of a jerk as he was, as crude and vulgar as he was . . . he was right._

_Darn him, he was right._

Belle wasn’t sure what to do.  The Count infuriated her. Crude, vulgar, dismal excuse of a man.

But he was right.

She was definitely attracted to the man _why? she couldn’t imagine why_ and if he had pursued the matter she would have likely dropped her very wet panties right there on the street for him or gone back to his little cell so that he could have his way with her.  She needed to talk to someone but certainly didn’t feel comfortable talking with anyone in her coven.  Most were like her – sheltered, inexperienced, naïve and innocent.

_Her coven members did not take vows of chastity but many of them lived as if they had.  It was difficult to balance – learning the arts they had been born to with the demands of a life in the outside world.  It was not a life conducive to meeting young men – or older, more worldly and experienced men, intense men with power and pretty eyes._

She hadn’t remembered walking in the direction but then she saw the bar, The Mad Hatter.  Ruby!  Perfect.  She went in and saw the weregirl was working tonight, tending bar.  Ruby spotted her and came over. 

 _On the television screen, the news reporter was droning, “Reports of a mystery illness are continuing to come out of Andovia.  The country has requested involvement from the U.S. CDC.  Preliminary reports are indicating that the illness is a form of hemorrhagic fever.  Health officials are requesting that the public remain calm but there is obvious growing concern.  The State Department has restricted tourism to Andovia_.

“Nice seeing you again,” Ruby told her.  “Wasn’t expecting you again so soon.”

Belle was shaking her head.  “Just had an unsettling run-in and thought a drink might help,” Belle told her honestly.   

“Run-in?  With a man?”

Belle nodded.

Ruby nodded back at her in sympathy.  “You poor girl.  Here, let me fix you something special,” she told her.  “It’ll make you forget all about the turd.”

_The news reporter had switched to another story.  “In other news, there is trouble brewing in the small town of Sooner following the shooting death of a black police officer._

Belle watched as Ruby began mixing a variety of alcohols.  She placed the drink in front of Belle who took a tentative sip.  It was slightly sweet but refreshing.  She looked up.  “This is very good,” she complimented the bartender.

“I call it ‘The Retribution,’” Ruby told her.  “It’s a combination of gin, vodka, absinthe, brandy and blackberry liquor, no mixers.”

“Well, I think one should fix me up properly.” But Belle knew it wouldn’t.  No matter how much she drank, she never seemed to get drunk.  It was nights like this that she envied others who could drink and forget their troubles for a little while.

_The reporter was on to another story.  “The tainted grain crisis is becoming serious and the Department of Agriculture has been actively working to resolve it.   Several governors of involved Midwestern states have declared a State of Emergency.   Cattle that have eaten the tainted grain have died, but so far no people have been affected.  Officials have denied there is any risk that whatever is affecting the grain could spread to vegetables or fruits.”_

“That drinks takes down most people.  Now,” Ruby hung over the bar.  “Tell me about the rat bastard that you had your problems with.”

Belle sighed.  “Well, girlfriend, I guess we’ll fail the Bechdel Test tonight,” she said wryly sipping her drink.  “It’s the Count.”

“Oh right.  Still, huh?  The hot Inquisition guy from the dinner who’d dragged you back to his room and tied you to his bed? Mmmmm.  The one you’ve been having slippery dreams over?”

“Not a hot guy, an obnoxious, arrogant jerk, self-important pig of a butthole,” Belle didn’t know many pejorative terms but made an effort to use all the ones she did know to describe the Count.

“Oh honey,” Ruby smiled at her.  “You got it bad.”

“Really?”  Belle looked up at Ruby.  “I don’t know what to say to him, how to respond to him. He’s completely over the top, outrageous.  Like some kind of throw-back male.  He snaps his fingers and expects me to . . . to . . .” Belle wasn’t sure what he expected from her.

“Hop up on the table, spread your legs and welcome him in?” Ruby suggested.

“Please,” Belle rolled her eyes. 

Ruby stood a moment quietly.  “Listen,” she began more seriously.  “I watched you two and I think there is some kind of strange attraction or connection or something going on.  I think it goes both ways but you’re both really strong, really focused individuals and right now, maybe you resent the other person interfering in your job, your mission.  You two are actually a lot alike.”

“Well, we do fight together really well – as a team, I mean,” Belle considered slowly.  Given Ruby’s puzzled expression, Belle explained, “This . . . thing attacked us and we took it down together.  It was . . .  exhilarating.”

“So there is some synchronicity, something deeper going on,” Ruby told her.

Belle shrugged, “Well, maybe. . . could be . . . yeah, there’s something.”

Ruby gave her a tight smile and went off to serve other customers.  After a moment, she came by again to check on Belle and she leaned in, “You might want to know that the odd guy in the corner has just paid for your drink. He’s strange, but I’m pretty sure he’s mostly harmless.”  Ruby gestured to a dark figure sitting in a far corner of the bar.

Belle turned.  She couldn’t make out much but raised her glass to the man, thanking him for the drink.  He stirred and stood, coming over to sit next to her.  He was quite tall and quite slender with pale skin and long blond hair.  He looked like he was dressed in a suit beneath his steel-gray overcoat.  In the darkness of the bar Belle could just make out that his eyes were light colored. 

“Thank you,” she told him.

“You looked like a lady in distress,” the man whispered.

“Actually more of a lady who is . . . angry.”

“At a man?”

“Of course.”

“On behalf of my gender, may I please apologize,” he said softly.

“You can apologize, but I’m still furious,” then she added.  “But I’m not angry with all men.  Just one specific man.”  

“He sounds like a fool.”

Belle hesitated.  “He’s just brilliant and capable and amazing, but . . .”

The man waited.

“He’s arrogant and smug and . . . and . . . right,” she admitted.

“He sounds dangerous,” her bar companion observed.

“Oh yes.  You got that right.  Very dangerous,” she agreed.  She tried to look over the man sitting next to her but could see very little in the dim light of the bar.  Long slender fingers, manicured nails.  Nice clothing. 

The man smiled at her, thin lips curling in his pale face.  “Be careful, Belle.  He is very dangerous.”  Then he got up, nodded at her and left.

Belle watched him go through the door and signaled Ruby back over.  “Did you tell him my name?  Do you know him?” 

“I didn’t tell him anything about you.  His name is Uri,” Ruby answered.  “I just know his first name.  He comes in now and then.”

“What kinds of vibes do you get from him?” Belle asked the weregirl.

Ruby considered.  “There’s something off about him but I couldn’t tell you what it is.  He’s always very polite, usually just gets one drink, drinks it and leaves.  You’re the first person I’ve ever known him to buy a drink for or to talk with for that matter.”

Belle considered but with nothing more to go on, she dropped the matter.

**Introspection**

Stiltskin was properly disgusted with himself.  He’d have more to confess tomorrow. 

He couldn’t stop the thoughts.  As he walked back to the church, he remembered how soft she’d felt beneath his hands.  He remembered how smoothly and deftly she had fought by his side.  He remembered how her eyes had softened when she had accepted his apology and then sparkled with fire when she had called him a jerk. 

He thought her magnificent – not just beautiful, but incredibly capable as well – an extraordinary hunter -- not at his skill level, no, but, he thought she was likely untrained and just functioning on intuitive talent. 

He wished he could have taken her back to his little cell and showed her slowly, gently, with respect, how much he wanted to touch her.  He wished he was better at putting his feelings into words. 

He especially wished he hadn’t lost his temper and accused her of trying to steal his powers.  He really, really wished he hadn’t mocked her body’s response to . . . well, she was a young, healthy, vibrant woman.  That didn’t make her a whore.  And she wasn’t one of The Brides.  She wasn’t Milah After the Change.  She wasn’t Cora. 

His history with women was . . .  complicated.  His duties had prevented him from engaging often with the fair sex.

With Cora, it had been all about physical pleasure and that relationship had been carnal throughout its short life.  There had been no feelings, no affection – certainly nothing from Cora’s end.  That relationship had been more than twenty years ago and they had both moved on.    

No, his feelings about Miss French were quite like those he’d had when he’d first met Milah Harper – a lot of passion, desire, but mostly, a sense of rightfulness.

However had he won Milah, competing against Van Helsing, Belmont and Morris?  He never understood, but she _had_ picked him.  He had never felt he deserved her.  And again, with Belle, he was feeling there might be something special between them.  _Maybe he was just hoping there was something more._

With his long habit of introspection, he was coming to terms with his feelings about Miss French.  He was ever-cautious, but he was becoming increasingly sure that she was likely The One, the one the Erzengel had said was important.  _But how and why was she important?_

_A tiny sliverous part of him wondered if she was his soulmate, the One for him, the one he’d had been waiting on for hundreds of years?  The One he’d thought might have been Milah – until she was seduced by The Darkness and taken from him.   He wanted to believe that Miss French might be the One, but he couldn’t allow himself to believe._

_He did know that he wanted to keep her safe.  And he would do what he needed to, to keep her safe._   

He knelt for his evening prayers. 

_What had he been thinking asking her out?  There was no way someone as ethereal, as precious, as pure as Miss Belle French would ever be interested in someone like himself._

_He was a lost cause._

_But keeping her safe – that he might be able to do._

 

**A New Task**

“What did you think of him?” Rheul was sitting behind her desk.  She was idly playing with a snowglobe that was on her desk.

Rheul had been gone for a couple of weeks.  When she returned she had been unusually quiet and somber. She had stayed in her chambers.  It was several days before she called Belle into her office, her first business within the coven since she had returned. 

Of course, she had asked about Count Stiltskin.

“He’s arrogant, smug . . . ,” Belle took a breath.  “He also is  . . . what, how should I describe it?  He’s austere.  He didn’t eat meat, didn’t drink alcohol while he was at the supper.  He told Zelena Mills rather clearly that he doesn’t . . . ah . . .  engage in sexual activity.”

Rheul nodded.  This confirmed what she had heard about the man.  “He seems to live like a monk.  When he’s not hunting, he’s practicing with weapons.  When he’s not practicing with weapons, he’s cloistered in prayer.  He doesn’t seem to have any vices, any weaknesses.”

“Ma’am,” Belle began hesitantly.  “ _Who . . . what_ is he?”  She remembered what Cora had said but hadn’t understood it all.  _The Sabbatarians, The Gray Hunters.  An Envoy of the Holy Office of the Question._

“I made inquiries, Belle.  He is what I thought, one of the Ancient Vampire Hunters, although Vampire Hunting hardly addresses what they do . . . did.  The families go back hundreds, even perhaps thousands of years.  You are undoubtedly familiar with the Van Helsings?”

“As in Abraham Van Helsing, who fought Dracula?”

Rheul nodded.  “The story, as I’ve heard it, were that there were three families, all Sabbatarians, all able to see dark creatures that were invisible to ordinary folk.  You have this ability, my dear, as do a very few select others.  But these three families went a step further and offered themselves to the early Forces for the Light, some of which eventually became part of the Holy Church.  The families were blessed and consecrated, dedicating themselves and their offspring to the sacred duty in perpetuity.”

“I’ve heard, of course, of the Van Helsings  . . . and the Belmonts?” Belle began, unsure of herself.  “So the Stiltskin family were another one chosen to fight the Darkness?”

Rheul nodded, “They were all granted with extraordinary self-healing and very long lives, uncanny reflexes and intelligence, among other skills, in order to fulfill their roles.”  Rheul stopped a moment.  “The Stiltskins have always been different from the other two families.  Their story is less that they were volunteers and more that they were cursed into this sacred duty.  And our Count was . . .  is said to be different even from the others of his family.”

Rheul hesitated before going on.  “He is from a family that has been fighting Darkness every bit as long as the others, but he, the Count, is rumored to have something that makes him more sinister than the others, which is probably why he’s called the Dark One.”

“Ms. Mills said he was called the Dark One because he has been more savage and more lethal than the others,” Belle shared.

“Perhaps but it is also said that he is marked in some way.”

“Marked?  How?” Belle asked.

“I do not know.  I was told that his mother, who was of the bloodline, died when he was born and he was abandoned by his father even before his birth.  He was raised by some monks in the high European mountains and then spent some time with The Wyrd Sisters.  We know he has some magical talents but we’re not sure of all he can and cannot do.  It is believed that he is the only one left from those three original families – the others have all been killed.”

“What a lonely destiny,” Belle said the first thing that came into her mind.

Rheul looked up at the young novice.  “Yes.  Very lonely.  Dark and dangerous.  It has almost certainly affected Stiltskin’s mental balance.  We know he is at least three hundred years old, probably older.”

“Wow,” Belle was surprised.  The man appeared to be in his forties, perhaps fifties with hair beginning to gray.  She knew he possessed uncanny strength and, even though she had nicked him with a knife, he hadn’t been slowed up.  _Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure he had even bled._

“Belle,” Rheul spoke slowly and somberly.  “I have been away gathering information from our sister covens.  I am about to go to an important conference.  I would have you attend with me.”

“Mother, I’m honored,” Belle bowed slightly.

“I’ve talked with you before that we suspect there is a Great Darkness rising.  There have been a number of signs from different sources.  I’ve been contacted by the Church, the Wiccan Council, the Wizards’ Warden, among others and we are all getting together.  Cora Mills, as leader of The Protection League, has been pushing for a conference and has agreed to host it.  Most of us feel that we will have to work together for this one.  I would have you come with me as my personal assistant . . . and, for that matter, to act as a bodyguard.”

“Yes ma’am,” Belle nodded. 

Rheul waited a moment before she added, “We’ve invited Father Hopper to the conference.  We’ve also invited the Count.  We hope, if he should see fit to come, that the good Father will be able to keep him on a leash.”

Belle had to smile, having met both the Count and the Father.  “I think the Count listens to the good Father, but I can’t see him walking on the man’s tether.”

Rheul looked up.  “You seem to have some definite opinions about the Count,” she observed.

Belle felt herself blushing.  “I guess.  I’ve spent a little time with him.”

“Belle,” Rheul began slowly.  “Have you fallen under his spell?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely drink that Ruby prepared for Belle is a real drink better known as an Aunt Roberta.
> 
> NEXT: Belle attends a frustrating conference
> 
> Rumple continues to make overtures to Miss French
> 
> Rumple makes an outrageous request


	6. Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple struggles to get back into Miss French's good graces and makes an audacious, outrageous proposal.

_Count Stiltskin has learned from his former daughter-in-law, now a vampire, that Miss French possesses a unique pedigree – one that includes Light Creatures, Dhampir, and Hunter bloodlines.  He concludes that she is most likely descended from the now deceased Gray Hunter Simon Belmont or, possibly, from the (also deceased) Gray Hunter Quincy Morris who inherited Belmont’s legacy and his magical Flail._

_Rumple mourns his inadequate seduction skills and berates himself for offending Miss French.  He feels he is not worthy of her._

_From Rheul, Belle has learned more about the Gray Hunter, that he is one of the three families who dedicated themselves to fighting Darkness in return for skills and powers.  Rheul has told her that it is believed the other family lines are ended and only the Count remains -- and the Count is marked in some way._

_Belle has been invited to participate as an aide to her Mother Superior in an important conference regarding the rising Darkness._

 

“Belle,” Rheul began slowly, obviously concerned, “have you fallen under his spell?”

Belle floundered making her response, “I . . . I don’t think so.  He’s fascinating, I’ll admit.  And I certainly recognize and respect his abilities.  But I don’t know that I find him all that alluring.  He’s arrogant and aggravating.”

“Hmmm,” was all her mentor said.

“I’m not under any spell, Mother, if that’s what has you concerned,” Belle insisted.  _But she wondered – was it . . . was it possible?_

 **The Conference**       

The conference had been going on for three days without the Count’s presence.  Belle had not been impressed with the other attendees.  Generally, meetings began with participants trying to establish why they were the dominant force in the room and their word should be heeded above all others.  Belle often left these meetings, that had gone on for several hours, feeling that nothing, absolutely nothing, had been accomplished.  Participants treated fact and rumor as equally important.  People wanted a lot of power but weren’t willing to take any responsibility.  She was quite unimpressed, especially if this was the best the Talented Community had to offer.

She was alternately amused and irritated.  _Nothing was getting done.  Nothing was getting decided._

_She’d rather be out hunting._

And now there was an annoying sensation, the feeling that she was being watched.  She couldn’t say for certain that this was really happening, but she often had the feeling that someone was looking at her.  But anytime she turned, anytime she looked around – she couldn’t see anyone.

**Out for a Drink**

_The illness, now referred to a BBV, for Beschadigt Blut Virus, is spreading.  There have been international efforts to quarantine the entire country and no one, except recognized medical personnel, have been allowed to enter or leave.  We are getting reports that there is widespread panic as people are attempting to flee the cities and there have been scattered reports of violence as people have attacked anyone or any group they suspect of carrying the illness.  Countries on the border of Andovia are patrolling and preventing anyone from crossing the border.  The death toll has already risen to above one thousand._

Belle was sitting in one corner of one of the large lounge areas unable to ignore the droning from the enormous screen television set that dominated one side of the room.  She was collating her notes _for what it was worth_ and trying to drink some mediocre tea.  For this work she probably should have gone into the room that she shared with Mother Superior but she thought that the woman might actually be resting.  Knowing how infrequently the head of her coven slept, she had not wanted to intrude.

But Belle was struggling to work in this room.  This room was busy.  This room was noisy.  There were a variety of groups talking, some quietly, some quite loudly, scattered throughout the room. 

What she had learned was that this Shadow creature had risen before and they were to expect three waves of attacks and then a final stand-off.  She had also quickly figured out that no one, absolutely no one wanted to go against it. 

_The reporter continued.   Here in the United States, the situation in Sooner seems to be deteriorating.  Martial law has been declared and the National Guard called in.  There have been riots and a number of businesses have been damaged.  Some community leaders are calling for citizens to arm themselves for protection._

_And in other news, the USDA has been able to identify that the tainted grain that was fed to thousands of cattle is a type of fungal infection.  At this point, however, they are no further along in eradicating the problem.  Despite official denials, there is growing concern that the fungus has the potential to affect other plants besides grain._

Belle managed to work for a few more hours before the ever-increasing sense that _Something_ was leaning over her shoulder, breathing down her neck, watching her every move became too much.  She decided to give things up and go out and get some coffee or maybe some alcohol.  She soon found herself at the Mad Hatter and ordered an Arrogant Bastard, a bitter hop bomb of a beer.

She was sitting quietly on the end of the bar, away from the door, when she felt _him_ come up and sit down next to her. 

“I believe I owe you another apology,” he began, not looking at her.  He was also drinking a beer.  “I was . . . rude.”

She didn’t look at him.  She didn’t answer him. 

Very softly, he continued, “I do think that you have put a spell on me.  Nothing else would explain the attraction I have to you. I have prayed over it.  I have done penance for it -- but I still  . . . I still want you.”

Belle took a deep breath.  “Am I supposed to be honored?” she managed to ask him.  “Just because you’ve developed some unnatural fascination for me.”

He didn’t respond right away apparently carefully thinking through what he would say next, “I think . . . I think that you are attracted to me also, Miss French.”

She glanced over at him and saw that he was smiling at her, a gentle, soft half-smile.  His eyes glinted gold swimming in whiskey brown depths. _Oh, my!_

“All right then.  Maybe . . . a little.  I could be,” she admitted.  It was somehow difficult to remain angry at the man when he was sitting right next to her acting all contrite and . . .  nice.  He wasn’t all that close but she could still feel the heat of his body, smell his particular spicy essence, not to mention he set her own magical sixth sense to buzzing . . . or ringing . . . or clanging. 

He nodded, evidently satisfied with her answer.  “Given my history with you and my unfortunate tendency to screw things up, I think this is a good place for me to bid you a good evening.”  And before she could say anything more _Hey, are you coming to the Ms. Mill’s Conference or not?_ he left. 

Belle sat open-mouthed looking at the door. 

“He’s been in here every night now.  I guess waiting for you,” Ruby came up to her.  “He’s also paid for your drink.  You okay with that?”

Belle thought it through.  _It was tempting to refuse the offer . . . but, well, maybe he owed her._ “I’ll take it.” 

She walked back to Cora’s mansion, creepy place that it was.  Things seemed unnaturally quiet on the streets as if everything dark had run away or gone into hiding.  She still had that odd feeling – that feeling of being watched, but here, here it was different than what she had been feeling in Cora’s house. She dawdled, looking into store windows, strolling slowly. 

Definitely, something was there.  When she moved, it moved.  When she stopped, it stopped.  She closed her eyes and summoned her _deep sight,_ that which she used to see the dark world, to peer into crannies, into corners and into holes in the night. 

Nothing. 

Yet she knew there was something there. 

She caught the faintest whiff of something, something she immediately recognized.  _A specific magical signature._

_He was following her.  Stalking?  No, she didn’t think that was it.  No, somehow she felt it was something else:  he was escorting her, making sure she got back to the mansion safe._

_If it had been another man, another relationship, the gesture would have been sweet._

Once she reached the gates of Cora’s cold marble mausoleum she turned and, taking her best guess, she addressed the darkness.  “Thank you,” she waved. “Goodnight.” And she went on inside the gates onto the grounds.

Rumple leaned back on the side of building where he had, he thought, well camouflaged himself while he watched her back, making sure she returned safely to the mansion.  But the little vixen had sensed him and had brazenly let him know that she knew he’d been following her.  He laughed, a genuine laugh, something he had not done in ages. 

_She was amazing.  In decades, really hundreds of years, no one had been able to see through his dis-ensembling, but she obviously did.  And was cheeky enough to let him know._

He thought he had done well with her tonight.  He’d shared his feelings and gently confronted her about her own inclinations, getting a confirmation that there was some reluctant reciprocity.  He felt good about how the evening had gone.

And looking at her, remembering what Emma had said about the Hunter bloodlines, he could now see Belmont’s remarkable blue eyes in hers – so he was reasonably sure that she was ultimately one of Simon’s descendants.  Her lustrous brown hair even had some light red tints in it – quite similar to Simon’s.   

As for any Morris blood, he couldn’t be sure. Morris had been a very ordinary looking chap.  What had always stood out to Rumple about the man was his personality – probably the single bravest individual he’d ever met.  Morris had been with Simon when Simon finally took out the Great Vampire and had aided him in the dangerous, bloody final battle.

From his street vantage, Rumple watched Belle as she began to pick her way through the grounds, finding her way to the mansion doors.  He was not happy that his little witch was staying in Cora’s house of horrors.  He knew from personal experience that Cora’s house contained a plethora of nasties. Hell, the place attracted unpleasantness.  Part of him wanted to rush in and drag Miss French out, but . . . but he somehow doubted that she would appreciate such a gesture.  He just had to hope that she was talented enough to take care of herself.

**Cora’s House**

Belle made her way through the grounds, noting again the manicured shrubs and sculpted trees.  In the darkness, it looked like there were large menacing creatures waiting to come to life dotting the landscape.  Standing outside and looking up at the house, she did feel like something was watching her from the house.

Once inside, she walked down the quiet halls, lit in the night by the occasional wall sconces.  She was not comfortable staying in Cora’s house.  There was something unsavory about the place.  There were many locked doors, too many locked doors.  There were also some doors that were not only locked but had guards in front of them.

That feeling of being watched was now relentless.  Something was watching her, following her, but each time when she would turn, there would be nothing there. There was one particular door that she had to go by to get to the large conference room that particularly unnerved her. 

It was the next morning that Cora found her standing in the hallway looking at the particularly unnerving door.

“Are you all right my dear?”

Belle startled.  She had not heard Cora come up behind her.  “Something is behind that door,” she heard herself say slowly.

“And we best hope it stays there,” Cora told her and led her on to the conference room.  But Belle glanced back and . . . Did she?  Did she see something like an oily black shadow come out from under the door?  She looked again but it was gone. 

She kept trying to shrug off the growing feeling that she was being watched despite her sensitive intuition.  That day, she again found herself fetching and carrying and catering and succoring not only her Mother Superior but several other of the conference attendees.  She caught different discussions now and again and caught the gist of the discussions – who was to do what and who was willing to work with whom.  But one thing was clear --  no one, no one wanted to go up against The Big Bad.  No one felt they were capable of taking it down . . . this time.

“Mother,” Belle began one evening.  “What is the talk about ‘this time?’  This Darkness, it has happened before, right?”

Rheul sat down and looked around before answering.  “Our records are pretty clear.  These things appear about every ten centuries, each time they come back stronger and more difficult to take down.  We haven’t been able to kill these things – at best we can contain them until they rise again.”

Belle sat down across from the leader of her order.  “So this is more than one entity?”

“Yes.  From what I can gather, usually there will be an upsurge of dark creatures of all kinds and then there will be three very powerful entities followed by the ultimate manifestation of Darkness.”

“Then, these are what the Sabbatarians were engaged to fight?”

“It is likely why these families were originally created,” Rheul agreed. “We are beginning to think that the Van Helsings, the Belmonts, and the Stiltskins go back far longer than two thousand years and were the ones that defeated it, or at least contained it, at least twice before.”

Rheul went on, sharing with Belle, “I’ve been doing more reading and research.  It seems that the Van Helsings were the intellectuals of the three, researching and documenting both the horrors they fought and how things could be killed or contained.  The Belmonts were the fiercest fighters of the three and took on many of the most infamous of demons, including the Great Vampire.  As for the Stiltskins, they . . . they had the edge on magical talents, in many ways the most powerful of the lot.” 

Rheul sighed, “At those times when there was a major threat, the three families were there to fight together.”  She sighed, “No one wants to do it, but we are going to have to plead with the Count to help us.  He is the only one left of all the Gray Hunters.  He is the only one who has any chance to go against the Shadow, but with the other two families gone, he would have to do it alone and I . . . I just don’t know that he’ll be willing to.”  Rheul shook her head.  “It may be hopeless.”

“You’d told me he’d been invited.  I haven’t seen him here in the mansion, so I presume he did not agree to come?” Belle had thought he would have been participating from the outset.   _He should have been here.   Why had he not shown up?_ Belle asked, “Is he not under the control of the Church.  I had the impression that he took orders from them.”

“So did I, but I guess he does have some measure of autonomy.  As I understand it, the Church cannot order him to his death and if the assignment is sufficiently dangerous . . . he can refuse,” Rheul explained.  “I do know when the council invited him, he demurred – said something about having too much to do.”

“So what makes you think we’ll ever get him to come?” 

“We’ll have the priest, Father Hopper invite him or, perhaps I should say, request that he attend us.  Even at this late date, especially because it is this late, we can only hope he will hear our appeal and answer us.  We are becoming quite desperate.”

“If he’s not under the absolute command of the Church, if he’s able to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to our demands, this gives him considerable leverage,” Belle said slowly.

“It does.  Perhaps, we may be able to make a deal of some sort with the man,” Rheul speculated. 

“What would he want?” Belle asked.

“I’ve no idea.  I’m expecting that if he answers our appeal, he will likely be difficult,” Rheul told her.  “And as volatile as he is, I can’t imagine that a difficult Count Stiltskin will be pleasant company.”  Rheul didn’t say any more.  _She was uncomfortable with what she knew, that she had been asked to bring Belle to the conference, that Cora had suggested that Belle might well be the key in obtaining Stiltskin’s cooperation._

**Yet Another Day at the Conference**

Belle was sitting behind Rheul on one side of the long conference table.  They had been there for more than four hours.  There had been a lot of yelling and name-calling and fairly nasty insinuations. _If it had been up to Belle, she might have incinerated the lot and gone back home; however did Mother Superior keep her cool?_

Stiltskin had still not joined them and much of the general consternation related to his failure to show.  Father Hopper assured them that he would come, but he would come in his own time and on his own terms.

Belle half-listened to the shouted arguments but was increasingly distracted by the sense of _something else_ in the room, _definitely something else in the room, something filled with malevolence and old, old hatred._   _Were none of these other people aware of it?  It was old and powerful but had no substance.  There were a few moments that Belle thought she saw the black shadow, but when she would look again, it would only be a shadow.  It was unsettling._

The conference continued on.  As voices were raised and threats to walk out were being made, there was a loud bang.  Belle immediately noticed it but it had not been heard by any of the other conference participants – their own voices drowning out all other sounds.  The thudding bang, this time louder, happened again.  Now many of the attendees heard it.  They began looking up, looking around.

“What the hell is that?” asked George (privately Belle thought of him as King George – the man acted as if he was so much better than everyone else at the conference and treated everyone as if they were servants.) 

“I don’t know,” Cora had responded.  She called over some of her people and  directed them to see if they could find out what the noise was.

The noise happened a third time, much louder, much closer.  It was coming from outside the room.  Some of the lesser dignitaries timidly opened the double doors that bided as the entry to the room.  A gust of wind blew in . . .  .  Everyone strained to look to see what might be on the other side of the door, but there was . . . .

Nothing.

“Well, that was a bit of a letdown,” Belle recognized the smug voice instantly.  She, like everyone else at the conference, turned and saw the Count was sitting at the head of the conference table.  He was dressed entirely in his hunting leathers, weapons visible, practically sparking with magical energies. 

“I got your message,” he told them.  “Help us.  Help us.  You’re the only one who can save us.”  He was mocking them.

“You know why we asked to see you then?” Cora asked him.

“Of course.  It would be hard to miss all the noise you were making,” Stiltskin lolled in the chair. 

He then got up and stretched.  He slowly strolled around the room picking up odd things, examining them and setting them back down.  To most of the participants, he looked relaxed, cocky even. 

_They’re afraid of him, she thought._

To Belle’s sharp eyes, she thought he might be . . .  nervous.  He didn’t make eye contact with her, keeping his focus on Cora and Rheul and, occasionally, George.

“This will have a price,” he told them.  “For saving all humankind, there . . . will . . . be . . . a . . . price.”

“We can offer you considerable wealth,” Cora told him.  “Gold if you want it.”

“I . . . _make_ gold,” he replied shortly.  He continued to flit about the room, making everyone increasingly uncomfortable. 

_He could make gold?!  That surprised Belle – the man lived like a monk, in apparent poverty._

“I want something . . . more precious,” he finally told them, turning to look back at them and smiling.

Cora had stood.  “What?  What is it that you want?”

Stiltskin smiled slowly.  “I want . . . _her.”_   And he pointed to Belle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Belle discovers (one of) the things that Rumple has been hiding.


	7. Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle reacts to the Count's outrageous proposal.

_Belle has attended a Conference at Cora’s residence and has been appalled at the petty arguments and lack of responsible responses to the growing crisis. She goes out for a drink and encounters the Gray Hunter who, yet again, apologizes.  She reluctantly admits to feeling some attraction to the man.  For his part, the Hunter is becoming increasing convinced that Miss French is descended from Simon Belmont, another Gray Hunter he worked with long ago to defeat the Great Vampire._

_When she returns to Cora’s mansion, Belle continues to sense a dark, oily presence that she feels is watching her.  Her Mother Superior explains more about the roles of the three families that were recruited to fight darkness, noting that the Stiltskin family were capable of magic._

_Quite desperate, the Conference has beseeched the Gray Hunter for help and he has appeared -- only to make a most outrageous request._

“I want something . . . more precious,” he finally told them, turning to look back at them. And then he smiled. 

Cora had stood.  “What?  What is it that you want?”

Stiltskin smiled slowly.  “I want . . . _her.”_   And he pointed to Belle.

There was a collective gasp from the assemblage.  For Belle the world froze into a narrow field, the noise, the actions of others diminished in the steadfastness of her vision for the Count. 

Rheul was on her feet now.  “Absolutely not!  We aren’t in the business of buying and selling humans.”

Stiltskin had moved quickly so that he was abruptly standing nose to nose with Belle’s Mother Superior.

“Really? Do you want me to recount the sordid history of your little coven?” he asked.  “What is it called nowadays?  Human trafficking?  How many times did your coven trade people for property, for power, for knowledge?”

“You can’t have her!” Rheul interrupted him before he could share details.  “There has to be something else that you’ll deal for.”  She was furious.  _So this is why Cora had pushed for her to bring Belle to this conference!_

The Count stopped his agitated movements as if he were considering Rheul’s offer.  Then he shook his head and waved her off.  “No, I don’t think so.  I have a rather large estate for which I need . . . a caretaker.  She’ll do,” he nodded in Belle’s direction.

There was another outburst of protests.  It was Father Hopper who quieted the group.  He stood and raised his hand and, surprisingly, the group became quiet and turned to listen to the unpresumptuous man. 

“Count, you know that we cannot allow you to just carry this young woman off,” he said gently.  “There are proprieties that must be observed.”

“So?  What? Are you saying I should marry the wench?  You think that would cover these . . . uh . . . proprieties?” Rumple asked his priest.

Archie seemed surprised at this idea. _He knew the Gray Hunter as well as any other living soul, and knew there was something else, some other reason, for the Hunter’s behavior._  “I was thinking that you might settle on something else as your reward, but . . . well, marriage might be an option, but . . . but only if Miss French is willing.” 

The Count had glanced over to look at Belle _perhaps to gauge her response to this proposal_.  “What do you say, dearie?” he asked her.

Several others at the conference continued to protest, some loudly, some tsk-tsking from their chairs safe away from the main conference table.  The Hunter ignored them and indolently settled down in the chair at the head of the table while he waited for her answer.  Belle locked eyes with the man.  There was something else in his look – Hope? Desire?  _What was he thinking?_

Archie had turned to Belle.  “Miss French, this is unexpected.  You must need some time to consider this proposal.”

“Proposal!” Rheul protested.  “No! Never! This is an outrage!”

“Totally objectionable!” added Cora.

“Unconscionable!” shouted George.

“Enough!” the Count stood up, pulling his gaze away from Belle.  “I’ve had enough!   I didn’t come here to debate the matter.  If her answer is ‘no’ then I’m done here.  You people can fight your own damn battles.  I’ll be retiring to my estate.”  He began to walk out of the room.

“Wait,” Belle found herself on her feet. 

He stopped, his back to her.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

He turned slowly, curiosity marking his expressive face.  “As my caretaker? Or my wife?” he asked. _Why had he ever suggested such a thing?  The idea that he might come out of this debacle with the delectable Miss French as his legal wife was  . . . unexpected.  He knew somehow, after what the Erzengel and Auntie Enola had told him that Miss French was important to him.  He knew he had to keep her safe.  Perhaps were she his wife, she would be protected._

_Or would she be even more vulnerable? A target for his enemies? A temptation to his own darker side?_

“As your wife,” she told him. 

That surprised him – and everyone else at the conference, _maybe even Belle herself_.  His eyes flickered over her. 

“Really?” she heard him _although she doubted anyone else had._

She was standing and looked him directly in the eye. “Yes,” she whispered her answer.

“Well enough,” he said quietly.  “Wife it is then,” and then he held out his hand to her but before she could take it, Father Hopper spoke up.

“I want to talk with you two,” he told them and he got between them.

“You will have a marriage to perform, priest.  We don’t have much time,” Stiltskin reminded him. 

“I know, but I need to talk with both of you first,” the priest held his ground.

Stiltskin turned to Cora and Rheul.  “Get together your information on that Shadow creature,” he directed them.  “This won’t take long.”

And Belle found herself sitting demurely with her hands folded together.  They were in Cora’s large ornately decorated office.  Stiltskin was lounging negligently with his feet stretched out in front of himself, resting them on top of Cora’s desk _and doubtless, leaving scuff marks from his heels on the polished desk top_.  Archie was sitting quietly while he considered what he needed to say to them.

“Belle,” he began.  “Are you sure, absolutely sure, that you want to do this?  To tie yourself to this man for the rest of your life?”

Belle glanced at the Count who was rather subdued and watching her intently.  He was still and his eyes were hooded but she knew he was attuned to every nuance of every movement that she made.

“Yes.  If he demands me as the price for saving humankind, then I’m willing to go with him.”

“But you realize that . . . that this will change you, certainly change what others think of you?” Archie asked her earnestly.  He glanced at the Hunter, “This could be dangerous for you.”

“I know,” she replied softly.

“Do you feel comfortable . . . comfortable enough to put yourself in his hands?” Archie asked her.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I think so.” _She thought it over.  He’d had her at his mercy several times now and had always backed off before truly hurting her.  He would threaten and posture, but he’d never actually raised his hand against her – well, except that first encounter when he’d thought she might be a Creature of Darkness._  

“I don’t think that he will hurt me,” she said slowly, not really quite sure of herself here.  _She had been afraid of him before.  Was she no longer afraid?  She didn’t think she was under any spell . . . but how was someone to know this?_

She gave Archie a weak smile and a faint nod.

Archie sighed, then turned back to the Count, “She should know about you, Count.  Before she finds out for herself, she should know.  She should know what you are,” Archie spoke to the Count softly.

“She has already given her word,” the Count responded sullenly. 

“But, it isn’t right. . . ” Archie began.

“She’ll deal with it.  She’s strong enough,” Stiltskin interrupted.  He had watched and listened to Belle’s interchange with the priest.  _Had she been afraid . . . was the woman afraid of him?  He hadn’t realized that she might be.  He’d thought she was simply angry and put out, put off by him, but never afraid.  She had never seemed afraid – damn, maybe she did have some of Quincy’s blood in her after all and was bluffing and adept at subsuming an air of bravery._

“What is there for me to know?” Belle asked.

Stiltskin was about to make a sarcastic comment but under the quiet scrutiny of his confessor, he paused.  He started to speak, then stopped, then started again.  “I’m a monster, Belle.  Under this veneer, I’m not quite human.  There is a beast that lives within me that is barely contained.  The good father doesn’t trust me not to turn into an animal and ravage you, even kill you.”

“And will you . . .?  Will you try to hurt me?” she asked him in a small voice.  She’d already seen the violence within the man.  He was proud and arrogant but it had seemed to her as if he hated what he was, the killing that he had to do.

The Count spoke deliberately, “I would never purposely hurt you, Miss French.  I want to keep you safe.  I will do my best to protect you from harm,” he promised her. He looked her directly in the eye and seemed somehow sad and vulnerable – and truthful.

Belle took a moment and then, slowly, she nodded her acquiescence.  _Do the brave thing, she told herself.  This was to save all of humankind._

“All right then.  You’ve agreed before God and a priest.  It is settled.” Stiltskin seemed relieved as he turned back to Archie.  “Let’s call in Cora and Rheul.  I want them for witnesses.”

Archie complied and the two stood behind Belle and the Count while Archie took them through the marriage ceremony. 

_It was surreal, as if things weren’t really happening, like a dream.  Belle replied to the vows, to love, to honor, to cherish. When Father Archie said her entire name, her true name, Belmont Morris-French, she saw the Count startle, as if he were surprised.  He stood a moment, first making eye contact and then he gave her a slight smile.  She heard the Count’s name, Rumple Von Stiltskin, and then heard him make the same vows._

 

Afterwards, while the Count was getting a sheaf of papers from Cora and Rheul, Archie spoke one last time to Belle.  “You will always have a safe haven in the Church, Miss Belle,” he told her and she smiled at him thanking the kind man.

Then it was time.

“I will return tomorrow,” the Hunter told the small assembled group.

And then Belle felt his arms around her and then, abruptly, there was a profound sense of disorientation.

She blacked out.

**The Dark Castle**

She awoke in a darkened room lying on a hard couch covered in worn green velvet.  There was a very high vaulted ceiling above her head, the ceiling disappearing into the shadows of high arches.  Light came into the room through several slender windows in the walls.  She could see great strings of cobwebbing hanging off the walls and from the single black iron chandelier that hung down from a black chain swinging over her head.  The couch sat on a rug that was had once been luxurious but was now threadbare in places and sported dulled colors.

“It’s unsettling.”

She looked around.  The Count was sitting with his back to her, sitting in a large throne-like chair at the head of a large table set behind the couch. The sheath of papers from Cora and Rheul had been thrown carelessly onto the table. 

He didn’t look at her.  “Teleportation.  The first time can be nauseating and disconcerting.”

“I guess I passed out,” she told him sitting up and looking around.  “Where are we?”

“My family’s castle.  It’s in the far north . . . on a small island . . . by itself.  I haven’t been here in a while so it’s rather fallen into disarray. I guess the magic that has maintained the house has grown a bit thin.”

Belle got up and continued looking up and all around.  The place, what she could see of it, was huge, dark and huge.  “This is a castle?” she asked.

He didn’t answer right away.  “Yes. It’s been in my family for a very long time.”  He still had not turned around.

“Want to show me around?” she asked.

“Miss French.  There is something . . . something else.  The good Father had wanted me to tell you before but . . . I  . . . I didn’t . . .  I couldn’t.”

“What are you talking about?” and she walked over to him.

She stopped.

“Oh my,” was all she said.

His appearance had changed.  His skin was no longer tanned with a touch of the weather worn but was instead covered with tiny, sparkling green-gold scales.  His eyes were no longer the comforting whiskey brown but were nearly yellow-amber with reptilian slits instead of round pupils. His straight, fine brown hair (with its touch of gray) was now matted into unruly locks.  His long fingers ended in blackened claw-like nails.

He was watching her.

“You aren’t going to run screaming away from me?” he asked. 

“You’re still the Count, aren’t you?” she asked.

He gave her a faint smile.  “I’m very much the Count.  This is my true appearance.  It reflects what is likely . . .  uh . . . demonic heritage.  I can glamour myself everywhere except inside this castle.”

“May I . . . “ she was hesitant.  “May I touch you?” she asked.

He pulled back, puzzled.  “If you wish.”

She put her hand on his arm.  “Your skin is smooth and . . . it is warm.”  _Like a mammal, not cool like a reptile._ She raised her hand to his hair and brushed against it.  “I had heard that you were ‘marked’ in some way.  Now I understand.”

The Count sat still tolerating her touch.  He spoke slowly, “My mother died giving birth to me and the midwife was horrified at my appearance.  Only the arrival of the village priest saved my life.  He knew my mother’s family, what we were – the Sabbatarian inheritance.  He had watched my father’s courtship, if you would call it that -- more like his calculated seduction of my innocent mother.  My father abandoned her as soon as she discovered she was in the family way.  Likely impregnating her had been his sole intent all along.  The priest felt that I likely had great capacity for fighting the Dark but I would have to be taught to resist the Darkness that was within me.”

“Mother Rheul said you were raised by monks in some far mountains,” Belle shared.

The Count nodded.  “For part of my life, until I learned to manage my appearance and could go out among ordinary people.  There I was taught to pray and to fight.  I was taught that I had to be constantly vigilant against my darker impulses and desires.  When I was older I was sent to live with three powerful entities who guided me and taught me much of what I know.”

Belle sat down next to him.  “Did you think I would . . . what?  reject you, run from you, start crying? when I saw your true appearance?”

“I did,” he replied honestly.  “Very few living people have seen me in this form. When I’m here, at this castle, I cannot maintain the disguise.  The magic in this place reveals things as they truly are.”

“So you couldn’t bring yourself to tell me before we left,” Belle clarified her situation. 

“If you cannot bear to be with me, Miss French, I will understand.  I can return you tonight to my priest and our marriage can be annulled.”

“But then you will not help us defeat the Shadow That is Rising.”  Belle stood.  “I agreed to go with you – with you,” she touched his forehead.  “I will stay.”

He sat still a moment and then nodded. 

Belle stood quietly, looking around the un-inviting great hall while the Count stared at the table top. 

“If you would prefer . . .” he began.

“Can we get something to eat?” she said at the same time.

He did not finish what he had been about to say but instead gave her another thin smile.   “I can summon us some food.”  He waved his hand and Belle gasped.  The table was abruptly ladened with a variety of things to eat, a baked fish, mashed potatoes, different vegetables and wine to drink.  He poured her a glass and, after hesitating, poured himself a glass.

“You’re not back on a Hunt just yet, I presume,” she said sitting back down on the long side of the table, next to his right hand.

“Not tonight, not yet, and, frankly, I’m rather nervous and I think I can be allowed a short glass this one evening.  It is my wedding night,” he admitted.

“You’re nervous?” she asked.  _It was hard to imagine this completely self-possessed man as being anything except completely sure of himself._

“I am not . . . used to being alone with a woman.  It’s been a while,” he admitted.

“I would have never guessed,” she said more to herself than to him. 

He gave her a wan smile, “I know, I know I have never been accomplished with women.  You called me ‘a jerk.’  Perhaps you are correct.  I would like to think that I am simply inexperienced and could perhaps learn how to talk to women so that they might like me, be comfortable around me.  It is kinder to think that it is something I haven’t learned.  Inexperience can be fixed, but I don’t know how I might go about becoming ‘unjerked’ if ‘a jerk’ is what I truly am.”

And now Belle had to smile at him.    “You’ve never been close to a woman?” she asked him.  She was close enough to touch his hand.

“I’ve lived a long time but there have only been a few other women before  . . . before you.  There were some women when I was younger but . . .” he stopped, seemed to shake himself, and began again.  “I did once have a wife who loved me, as I loved her. But things ended badly between us when she was seduced away from me by a dark and powerful magical entity and I . . . I lost her. I was . . .” he seemed embarrassed by this next confession, “I was involved briefly with Cora, whom you know.  I thought I was in love with her, but she . . . well, she was not in love with me.” 

Belle took it all in. “You have been lonely,” she said it rather than asking.

“I guess.  It is hard, you know.  Seeing you here in this place, in the candlelight, I can see how very beautiful you are.  Your pure soul shines through.”  He turned away from her.  _There was no question here – there was fairy, perhaps even angelic heritage in this one – she fairly glowed with innocence and purity. Where had that bloodline come from? Not from Belmont who’d had his own dark heritage._  “Belle, there is a dark part of me that has awakened and wants to . . . to have you here on this table,” he confessed this abruptly, in a rush.  “This is what the good Father was afraid might happen.”

Belle realized that he was not eating although he had prepared himself a plate.  He was, instead, watching her.  She could also see that his slitted eyes had widened, whether from the darkness of the room or from something else, she wasn’t sure.  She suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore – her hunter instincts had all come to life.  _There was danger here._

“Are you finished with your meal?” he asked in a low voice.

She licked her lips. “Yes,” she finally answered.

“Then come with me,” he told her.  He rose and held out his hand to her.

Belle slowly stood and cautiously took his hand.  _What were his intentions?  He didn’t seem angry but was he wound tight, energy popping off the man._

_Was he planning on taking her to her bedroom?  His bedroom?_

This man had already seen her nearly naked.  He had already run his hands over her body. And darn him, she knew she could be aroused by his touch.  _And he knew he could arouse her with his touch._

_Would he want to exercise his marital rights?  They had not discussed this.  With marriage rather than caretaking, there was the implication . . . and she certainly knew that he was attracted to her. . . . and she had certainly learned early on that he was a functioning male._

This moment though there was something else.  She could feel a dark element in the man rising, taking hold of him.  She shivered, not exactly scared, but nervous, very nervous.

_He had said he would not hurt her.  But if his darkness had taken hold of him, what would he do?   Was her trust in him to be unfounded?_

He led her down several dark stone corridors and up several flights of dark stone stairs.  Before them, a heavy wooden door on black iron hinges swung open before they came to it, taking them into a bedroom. 

It was an eerie place, cold gray walls, a high gray ceiling and bare gray floors.  There was a large dark wood four-poster bed dominating the center of the room.  It was covered with white sheeting and dust.  Frail tattered gauze hung down from the top railings, like the remnants of a bridal veil around the bed.  The Count raised his hand and a wind blew through the room, blowing away the cobwebs and the dust. 

Belle spoke nervously, “Perhaps we should spend some time together, just getting to know each other before we  . . . “  She didn’t hear him come up behind her but felt his arms go around her, lifting her up.  She yelped when he tossed her onto the bed.

“I know you well enough,” she heard him.  And then he was on top of her, blackened nails tearing at her clothes, his sharp nails sometimes grazing her skin and leaving fine red prickled lines where they scratched her skin. 

“The weak part of me, the part that kneels before priests and bows his head in the Church, the part that accepts penance -- that part of me would let you sleep alone tonight.”  She felt his fingers trace up the reddening claw marks he’d just made and watched when he licked his finger to taste her blood.  “But this part of me, this part would consummate our marriage.”    

She couldn’t stop herself from pushing him away or at least trying to push him away.  His lips crashed into hers, forcing her mouth open, bruising her lips, nearly cutting her with his teeth. 

“No,” she managed to speak when he moved his mouth to kiss her along her neck, but he ignored her.  His hands continued to pull away her clothes, his sharp nails still sometimes grazing, sometimes scratching her.  “No,” she told him again, trying to get him to stop, but he seemed intent on forcing his bride.  In the dim light, she could see his pupils had expanded and filled the amber eyes.  He licked her neck.

“Sweet, you taste sweet,” his voice hoarse as he muttered to her.  He then began to slide down her body pulling off the remnants of her clothing, even to dragging off her wispy panties.  She was naked in his bed, his amorous intentions quite evident. 

“No,” she told him one more time, but then he settled between her legs, using his body to pin her to the bed, dropping his mouth to hers once again, kissing her.  And then he dropped his hand between her legs and her world imploded.

He was touching her where no one had touched her before.  She could feel a combination of hot and pressure and . . . pleasure.  He held her thighs apart while his calloused fingers plundered her soft folds and all her delicate places.  She struggled to get away from him but was not able to do more than thrash.

He was too rough, too demanding.

“Please, you’re hurting me.  I’ve never. . .” she managed to gasp out and was astonished when he shook himself violently and then abruptly stopped and pulled away from her.  He knelt on the bottom of his bed, his head down, his breath coming in great gulping gasps.  He was visibly trembling.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.  “Forgive me,” he said between gasps.  “I had told you that I would never hurt you, that I only wanted to protect you.  I thought . . . I really thought I could control myself.”

He turned away from her, sliding off the bed, as he continued, “But Miss French, the beast that lives within me -- I can’t always control it.  That part of me wants you, wants to possess you and . . . fuck you.  I am sorry.  I will leave you alone,” and he stood shakily and then stumbled out of the room.  “Forgive me and please, please don’t seek me out tonight,” she heard him as he closed the door behind himself, shutting her in the room.

Belle lay on the bed, her body heated, her fever up and feelings of total bewilderment consuming her.  It took a while before her breathing returned to normal. 

 _He had stopped, stopped before he . . ._.  Her lips burned from his kisses and she felt there would likely be bruising.  There were numerous scratch marks all over her arms, her legs, her body.  Between her legs, she ached; she was wet and swollen, her body having responded to his brutish actions even while her mind had recoiled. 

But then he had stopped himself. 

She considered briefly going after the man but quickly decided to heed his warning.  He was in a dangerous state of mind and, she thought, was struggling to retain a fragile control over himself.  She picked over the remnants of her clothes – torn to shreds. 

She returned to the comfort of the bed and sat in the middle, wrapping herself in a sheet.  The room was cool, but not cold.  There was a slight breeze wafting in the room and she could see several tall rectangular windows in one wall.  She got up and looked out one of the windows.  There was a full moon and she could see water and smell salt air – an ocean then.  There was a light rain falling.   

This was his home.  She remembered him mentioning that it was on an island.  She looked out on the towers and curtain wall of the castle.  There, on the top of one of the towers – a figure.  It had to be a statue but in the gray rainy mist, she thought she might have seen it move.

She went back to the bed.  Belle considered her options.  She knew the man needed some space and even if he hadn’t been out there, she didn’t want to go exploring in the darkness.  She certainly had no ready way off the island and was essentially trapped in his castle.  

She opted to cast a basic, simple protection spell around the bed and a second spell around the doors and windows.  She doubted the spells would keep someone of his abilities out but should he crash through them, she should at least feel it and wake up.  Exhausted, she drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know – I’ll fix this between Rumple and Belle, I promise. Rumple’s still got a little further to fall before things start to come back together for him.
> 
> Next: Rumple deals with guilt and a particularly nasty demon.  
> Belle explores the Dark Castle, meets a new friend and confronts a new enemy.


	8. Separate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple deals with guilt and confronts a new dark force.  
> Belle explores the Dark Castle and confronts a new dark force.

_Belle has been taken by the enigmatic Count as his bride to his castle on an isolated island.  Her true name, given during their vows, revealed the names of two Gray Hunters and the Count is now more convinced than ever that she is descended from both Simon Belmont and, Simon’s successor, Quincy Morris. Once in his castle, Belle sees him in his true demonic form, which he tells her is a legacy from his father. She is more curious than repulsed; a reaction he had not expected.  During an evening meal, his mood shifts, and his darker self awakens.  He takes her to his bedroom and brutally attempts to consummate the marriage, but stops himself and, contrite and horrified at his actions, he leaves her._

**Ghost**

Count Rumple Von Stiltskin, devastated and dejected, sat on one of the high outer parapets for a while, sitting in the cold rain.  It would have chilled anyone else to the bone, but for himself, it simply served to cool his burning blood.  When he finally felt he had regained control, it was past midnight. Rumple then silently made his way into a second bedroom, previously the bedroom for the female head of the family, properly for the wife.  It was also gray on gray on gray but furnished more elaborately than his own bedroom.  Besides the bed, there was a chaise lounge, two armoires, a table with two chairs set on a rug, several plush carpets covering the cold stone floors, wall hangings keeping the chill out of the room, and thick curtains on the windows.  He locked himself in the room to prevent any chance disturbance by his bride.

He then stumbled into the room and sat down in one of the chairs.  In one quick gesture, he cleared the dust and cobwebs from the room.  In another gesture, he summoned some whiskey.  He was still trembling and the bottle jangled harshly against the glass as he poured himself several fingers of the fine amber liquid.  _He had nearly assaulted, hell, he had very nearly raped his lovely wife, a woman who was supposed to be his true and honored wife, taken with vows with the blessing of the Church.  He had never had that intention when he selected her as his ‘reward.’ Honestly.  He had only been wanting to protect her. She was special – important somehow – too pure for the likes of him.  He had also thought her strength, her energies, even her beauty would be just what his stuffy old castle needed.  Besides he knew that taking her in marriage would piss off Prissy Miss Blue (and probably Cora too)._

_But mostly it would keep her safe from whatever was lurking out there._

_He knew it important that he keep her safe._

_But damn it all, he could barely protect her against himself._

_Once he had seen her here at his castle, her beauty, her wholesomeness, her purity all shining through, the beast that lived within in him, that lay, at best dormant, and, at worse, in possession of his conscious mind, began to stir.  Always before when the beast took over his body and his mind, he would have to allow it to run its course.  He had never been strong enough to stop it, not until tonight._

_Dimly he remembered feeling her small hands pushing against him.  Vaguely he recalled her telling him, “no” over and over again which, to his disgust, the beast found more arousing. When he tasted her, the monster growled and pushed the last tiny sliver of humanity that housed his soul down, determined to have his way with the girl._

_But when she had said he was hurting her, that she had never . . . somehow, he didn’t know how, but somehow that had been enough.  For the first time, he was able to put the beast back into its cage.  He was able to regain control and retain control.  He had left the room, not sure how long his tenuous self-control would last._

As he sat, nursing the glass of whiskey and checking the tethers on the doppelganger demon that lived within him, very much a part of him, he didn’t notice the frost moving across the stones and creeping up the table, white crystals rapidly growing as the temperature in the room dropped.  His breath began to fog and he might have shivered if he had been fully human.  The awareness that the room was now freezing cold came upon him suddenly.

He drank and waited.

He poured himself a second glass and watched as the nebulous figure swept into the chair across from him.  In a moment it became solid in appearance as if he could reach out and touch the figure, but he knew, from long experience, that if he tried to touch the figure it would fade and disappear. 

He didn’t want it to disappear. 

“Papa?”  The voice was clear.

“Bae. It’s been a while since I could get here.”  He licked his lips, “I’m not doing well, Bae,” he said.

“I know Papa, that’s why I came.  You were very strong tonight, not to hurt the lady, to stop and walk away from her.”

“I hurt her.  I almost . . . raped her.  I never meant for that to happen.”

“And it didn’t happen, Papa.  You were able to do the right thing.”

“But how about the next time?  It was a mistake to marry her, to bring her here.  I brought her here to make this a better place, to purge some of the darkness.  And to keep her safe, mostly to keep her safe. But how do I keep protect her against myself?  If the beast decides he wants her, I don’t know that I will be able to stop him.  It was a mistake.”

“No, Papa, it wasn’t.  You will be strong enough.  She’s just what you need.”

“Uri and Enola both told me that someone important was about to enter my life.  I’m thinking it might be her.”

“She is important, Papa,” the figure replied.

“Bae,” he had to ask.  “I miss you so much. I thought, with time, it would get easier, but it hasn’t.  Sometimes I see something or do something or think of something and . . .  it’s like it happened yesterday.”

“I’m fine, Papa.”

“I checked on your son.   Uri had told me I’d kept him in stasis long enough, that it was time to take off the sleeping spell and have your son join the living.  He is now with the Wyrd Sisters.  He’s doing well.  I know they can protect him far better than I can, so he’s safe.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

He hesitated before speaking, “I saw Emma.”

“I know, Papa.”

“She seems sorry.  She’s not like the others of her kind.  It’s . . .  it’s as if she’s managed to retain some a part of her soul, that your True Love protected her from losing herself.  She’d be with you if she could.”

“I know, Papa.  But it will never happen.  It cannot ever happen.  I’ve accepted this and I’m sure Emma has too.”

“It’s not fair,” Rumple said to his son, to the ghost of his only child.  “If you were both going to pass over, then you would at least be together, but now, this is impossible.  If Emma dies . . .”

“Then she will be truly dead,” Bae told his father.  “We cannot be together Papa.  Not ever.”

“If I can find a way . . .” he began.

“No, Papa.  Don’t spend your time, your energies looking for something that is not there.  You will soon have many important battles to fight.”

“I love you, Bae.  Please, stay here with me a while longer, please,” Rumple had noticed the ice crystals were disappearing and the figure was starting to fade.

“I love you too, Papa.”

And then the figure was gone and Rumple was left alone.

Hot tears streamed down his face.  It always tore his heart out when his son visited with him, the pain so overwhelming, still all-consuming.  Each time, he didn’t know how he could stand it, why the sheer pain didn’t kill him.  He finished his second glass of whiskey and poured himself a third.

Maybe, maybe tomorrow morning he would be able to face her. _She would be furious, he was sure, and she should be.  Or, she might be truly afraid of him now and he’d have to work again to regain her trust._  He had finished his third drink and poured himself a fourth.  Later there would be a fifth drink and soon thereafter, he would find himself face down in the bed with no memory of getting there.

_Distraught, numb to all sensorium, Rumple did not notice the oily shadow that detached itself from him and slid along the wall.  It stayed a moment in a ceiling corner and then slithered away._  

**The Morning After**

Belle woke up when thin sunlight came through the window.  She had no clock so wasn’t sure what time it might be.  She saw that the protections she had raised around the bed were intact but the ones into the room had been neatly and cleanly cut through.  _He had been in the room at some point – while she slept._   She got up and found there were clean clothes laid out for her – new undies, a simple white shift, a blue jumper, a white apron along with socks and shoes.  She looked around the large bedroom and found some water in a basin that she used to splash her face.  She dressed.  When she returned to the bedroom she noticed the large white notecard that was propped up on the little table.

She picked it up and read it.

_My Gracious Lady French,_

_Please forgive me.  The Castle will take care of all your needs.  You shall be safe here.  I shall return as soon as I am able._

_Forgive me,_

_Count R. Von Stiltskin_

Belle read the note and then crumbled it, throwing it across the room.

“Son of a . . . beetle!” she said.  _She realized he’d left her alone at the Castle!_ Belle went to the door and found it opened.  The halls were empty and cool. 

She sighed and began a timid exploration of the place.

It was indeed huge.  She learned quickly that she needed to leave trail markers so that she could find her way back to more familiar rooms.  Once in the great hall, she found that a breakfast had been set for her.  She ate and once she turned her head, found that the dishes had been removed.  She decided that it would help if she could make a map of the place and promptly found paper and pen awaiting her use.  She spent the rest of the day wandering through the castle, making notes and mapping some small portion of the place out. 

       **Guilt**

The Count Stiltskin continued to feel guilty.

It was a new feeling for him and he found it very uncomfortable. 

_Yes, yes, there was the whole thing that he had been trying to keep her safe, but he knew there was more to it than this._

_He had wanted her, wanted her company, wanted her eyes on him, wanted to be able to look at her . . . touch her._

Why had he insisted on the beauteous Miss French as his price, knowing that his motives weren’t strictly pure? _He had known deep in his heart that his motives weren’t strictly pure – he had known that he’d wanted her in his bed, her body responding to his touch, crying out when he claimed her._

The Church could have just ordered him to do the job.

“ _No, they couldn’t have_ ,” the Dark Voice in his head told him.  “ _The Church cannot order you to your death.  It would nullify the Original Agreement.  You could have walked away from this job.  You should have.  You took Miss French to make the job worthwhile.”_

He had to agree.  He knew all of this.

_“Of course, then coward that you are, you walked away from Miss French.  You should have taken her.  She might have resisted . . .  at first.  But she wants you.”_

“She’s a virgin,” he told himself. 

_“So . . . you’d be her first.  That would be nice you know.  Knowing that no other man has known the pleasure of sticking his prick up that tight little cunt, no other man has fucked her, squeezed those perfect little tits.   She’s a fighter.  I think she likes it rough, might like a little knocking around. Perhaps the occasional spanking might be needed to keep her in line.”_

“Shut up!” he told the Dark Voice. He waited but the usually persistent Voice went quiet.

It was a part of himself. Really it was.  He knew, as much as he would like to think this was a separate Thing that lived within him, he knew it was not.  It had always been so tempting to think he had a demon, a monster, a beast inside of himself, that was responsible for his darkest actions.  But no.  It was really just him, just another part of himself. 

Everyone had their dark side, their shadow side, but his seemed darker, larger, more powerful than the dark side of others.  The kindly monks who had raised him in his early years had been aware of this.  They had accepted him for what he was and did their best to help him.  When his magic manifested they had sought out the Three Sisters to care for him.  He called them his Aunts, although he knew they were no relations of his.  They had taught him to manage his magic, teaching him that all magic had a price, that there would always be a consequence for each action, and always someone would have to pay.  His darkness did not repulse them – they had dealt with far worse.   They had tried to help him see the strengths his darkness gave him, to see it as a source of decisiveness, of pragmatic ruthlessness. 

When his magic manifested they had sought out the Three Sisters to care for him.  He called them his Aunts, although he knew they were no relations of his.  They had taught him to manage his magic, teaching him that all magic had a price, that there would always be a consequence for each action, and always someone would have to pay. 

His darkness did not repulse them – they had dealt with far worse.   They had tried to help him see the strengths his darkness gave him, to see it as a source of decisiveness, of pragmatic ruthlessness. 

He wiped his forehead and teleported back right outside the grounds of the Church.  He entered in and went straight to Archie’s office.

The Priest was there and stood when the Dark Hunter entered.  He didn’t say anything, just waited for the Count to start talking. 

“She’s safe.  I didn’t . . . I didn’t . . . “ he couldn’t finish.  “Can you hear my confession? Please?”

Archie nodded.

_And he shared his desires for the little White Witch, his dark thoughts, his hurtful actions.  He shared the Visitation, wanting, wishing he could bring his son back from the dead or, at least, reunite him with his lost True Love.  He shared, he shared, he shared . . . ._

_It was the most painful confession he had ever made and he couldn’t stop his tears. He choked on his grief, his self-loathing, his sheer disgust with himself._

And Archie, as always, Archie listened.  Quietly, patiently, Archie listened and commiserated, not trying to reason with him, not judging, just listening. Soulfully, earnestly, Archie listened and, kindly and gently, he absolved.  He also encouraged and praised Rumple for staying as strong as he had.    

Afterward, Archie spoke softly, “I’m sorry to bring this up now with everything else going on but there has been another demon sighting.  A bad one. This one has terrified everyone who has come up against it.  It seems to freeze people in their tracks.  I have no one else I can send and both Rheul and Cora have exhausted their people.”

“Has it killed anyone?” the Count was glad to be able to shift his attention off of himself and focus on something _anything_ besides his own inadequacies (although he cringed that the new topic was now a vicious demon). 

Archie was quite sorrowful.  “Yes, I think.  A homeless mother and her young child were found.  The official report says they died of exposure, but the temperature was only in the forties and it wasn’t wet, so I doubt that was the real cause.”

“A child?” the Count repeated, getting the confirmation he didn’t want to hear.  Demons that went after children were particularly nasty.  “Where?” he finally asked.

“The same place the night-fiend was haunting.”

“I know the place,” the Count said grimly and set out. 

**Undertown**

The streets were still wet – they always seemed wet in this place – wet and cold.  His eyes adjusted quickly to the twilight state of the streets, the gray shadows.  He waited.

**Alone at the Castle**

If she hadn’t effectively been a prisoner, Belle might have enjoyed her day at the Dark Castle.  She quickly learned that if there were anything she wanted, all she had to do was to wish for the item and it would appear.  Well, within reason.  Wishing for a helicopter and competent pilot had yielded nothing.  Neither had her wish for a cell phone or a computer with an internet connection.  There didn’t really seem to be electricity in the place although it was warm and well-lit.

She’d yet to find her way outside, spending the day wandering over too many rooms to count.  Her heart leaped when she’d wandered into a huge private library.  It was as if the room had called out to her.  She looked around in wonderment at the books which were arranged from floor to ceiling all around her, hundreds, thousands of odd, old volumes.  She spent some time here, part of her time she just rode one or another of the ladders that attached to a high railing, riding around the room as she explored the back aisles.  She ascertained that many of the volumes were not in English or, for that matter, in any language that she recognized.  Some flatly refused to open for her.  Some, the creepiest of the lot, would cry or sigh _or scream_ when she opened them – these she promptly closed, not wanting to unwittingly release magic that she could not control.  She hoped that anything truly dangerous would be stowed away under lock and key but she didn’t find any cases that were locked, so she couldn’t be sure that any precautions had been taken.

She began to get hungry and thought it might be time for an evening meal.  She selected a book for company and made her way back to the dining room.  There she  found a meal waiting for her.  As she sat and ate, she surveyed the map she had made.  She knew she didn’t have the place completely explored, not even one floor and she had counted at least four stories.  However, she had made some progress and was now able to find her way from the bedroom down to the main dining hall without the assistance of her little markers. 

She retired to the bedroom still clutching the book, an odd one about a brave princess who fought a dragon. It seemed apropos.  As she sat on the bed, under the unreasonably bright candlelight, reading, she found herself beginning to shiver. 

The next thing she noticed was her breath.  It was fogging up.  She looked around.  The temperature had noticeably dropped.

She suddenly didn’t feel she was alone.  

**The Lesser Demon**

The Count found the creature, the largest of the shadow minions, a _Schatten Scheusal_.  These were particular nasty, large, hungry and ill-tempered.  They were just smart enough to make them more dangerous than the average minion. Some of them even had names. 

The _Schatten Scheusal_ was lurking around the crossroads, drawn to the energy of the place.  It had fed recently so it was more patient than it might have been were it starving. 

“Well, well, Rumple Stiltskin,” the creature greeted him, looming, standing upright, its black wings raised to increase its apparent size.

He loaded his weapon ignoring the figure.  It wasn’t easy.  The creature emitted the rank nauseating odor of rotting flesh.  It emanated waves of bone-chilling cold.  It rose above him and was slowly spreading itself to wrap him, surround him, in its slick darkness. 

He fired.  The arrow tore through the creature as it would through a fog.  There was no impact from his weapon of choice, a silver-tipped arrow, one that would hurt, damage, even kill almost all foul creatures.

The creature laughed at him and before he could reach into one of his pockets to pull out some Holy Water, the creature suddenly moved in, squeezing him, surrounding him, suffocating him, stealing his breath.  He struggled to breathe and only with the greatest of efforts was he able to uncork the bottle and splash its contents on the menace.  The creature screamed and sprang back but didn’t flee.  There were now several gaping holes in the fabric of the _Scheusal_ where the Holy Water had spattered it.

He then felt as if claws were being dragged down his body, shredding his clothing, tearing skin, leaving long bloody welts.  The wounds were stinging him as he reached for another weapon – this time a binding spell, one in the form of a potion.  The creature snatched the potion from his hand and flung it away, dashing it on the crumbling asphalt of the street. 

He remembered seeing glowing red eyes turned on him, hot, whirling, glowing eyes that _s_ eared into him.  He slumped and lost consciousness.

**Belle’s Room at The Castle**    

“Please, I mean you no harm.  Don’t be afraid.”

It was a young man, about her own age.  He was kindly looking _but Belle knew too much about creatures of darkness to simply trust something handsome that promised her no harm and urged her not to be afraid._

“Who are you?  What do you want?” she asked the figure, standing up and trying to think what she might have handy to use as a weapon _if she should need one._

“I’m here to warn you.  There is an entity in the castle.  It must have come in with you or the Count.  If you sleep, it will possess you.  You cannot sleep.”

“Who are you?” she asked again. The temperature in the room was frigid and she was doing her best not to let her teeth chatter.

“A friend . . . or at least someone who would become your friend.”

“What kind of creature is here?” she asked.

“A _Verlassen._ One of the Forgotten Ones.”

She shook her head.  She wasn’t familiar with this creature.

“They are formed when many people die, but there is no one there to mourn their deaths.  They hate the living.  They try to take over a person’s body when they are sleeping but. . . they kill their hosts and take them in to become yet another one of their number.  The _Verlassen_ that is here is an old one made of many angry spirits, from the Seyfo.  It has killed many, many times.”

“And if I fall asleep, it will try to possess me and kill me?” she asked, her fear beginning to build.  “But how can I . . .? I can’t stay awake forever.”

“You are a White Witch.  Shield yourself.  Shield yourself well.  Everything you need is here,” and the young man pointed behind her.

Belle turned to look and could see the salt box and some candles.  And a compass.  When she turned to speak to the young man again, he was gone.

The bitter cold in the room had also abruptly dissipated.

Belle realized she had been conversing with . . . a ghost.

_Oh, my!  She had suspected, even known, that this dark castle held many, many secrets, but somehow to find out there was a ghost was startling.  Who was he? Or who had he been? And why had he warned her about the, what had he called them, the Forgotten Ones, the Verlassen?_

It was not a difficult decision.  Belle decided to take the advice of the spirit.  She placed the candles and some handy matches on the floor.  She then took the salt and carefully used it to make a circle around herself.  Within the circle, she drew a second layer of protection – a pentagram.  She then began her supplications to the four directions, lighting each candle and closing the circle.  She raised it up so that it worked like a dome rising above and, wise witch that she was, falling below and going all around her.  She positioned herself and after adding a final prayer for protection to the Mother Goddess, she began to place herself into a trance.

It wasn’t easy.  Soon enough she could hear them, tapping at first, then scraping, then pounding against the barrier, begging her, crying, shouting at her, some pitiable, some fiercely angry.  There were shapes, writhing, slippery shapes all around the dome, white fleeting shapes against the blackness of the night.  _This was what she had sensed while at Cora’s mansion.  This was the thing that had been watching her._

She found herself trembling and had to call upon all her strength, all her training to maintain the sphere of protection.

_Why had the Count left her in this awful place?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Rumple recovers from losing a fight.  
> Belle is rescued and offers help to Rumple.


	9. Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An injured Rumple discovers Belle in peril.  
> Belle shows her husband an unexpected talent.

_Ashamed, even appalled at his behavior on their wedding night, the Count has left Belle in what he believes is a safe place, the Dark Castle, while he continues to follow his own path.  Belle, furious at having been abandoned, begins to explore the enormous castle finding all basic needs are readily addressed by the magical place.  She soon locates a large library containing a variety of esoteric tomes and amuses herself.  After she has a solitary evening meal and prepares for bed, she is visited by a ghost who warns her that there is a malevolent force in the castle and she should protect herself.  She casts wards and a powerful protection spell._

_The Count, following an abject confession to his priest, takes on a new assignment in Undertown where he faces a vicious opponent who takes him down._

**The Church**      

He awoke with a start.  He was lying on his back on the cot in his cell room.  There was an extra pillow under his head and a thick blanket laying across his body.  Father Archie was sitting by his bed. 

“I sent the wolf-girl out for you,” Archie told him.  “When you hadn’t returned at sunrise, I became concerned.”

“I . . .” he began, confused.  His last memory was fighting the _Scheusal_.  It had been . . . unproductive.  He shifted and winced.  He looked down.  He was still in his hunting leathers but he could see that his clothing was marred with multiple deep gouging scratches. These were all in parallel lines of three, many of which had torn through the tough material.  Several places were still oozing blood. 

“What happened?” Archie was being concerned, not accusatory.

“I don’t know.  My weapons hardly affected it.”

The Priest nodded in understanding.  “I’ve done as much to heal you as I can.  Do you need to return to the Dark Castle to heal yourself?” 

The Count pulled himself up, cringing against not only the cuts but the body ache.  He felt like he’d been beaten with a stout stick and slashed with razors.

“I do need to return,” he told Archie who helped him sit up.  Stiltskin gingerly tried to stand.  Some cuts were still bleeding and in the places where the blood had dried, his movements caused the fabric of his clothing to pull against the newly formed scabs and start bleeding anew.  He forced himself to stand. 

Archie nodded.  “Go then and take care of yourself.”

The priest helped him walk outside of the church, out to a quiet dark alley behind the stately structure.  The Count then concentrated, thinking of the great dining hall of his castle and  . . .

Then he was there.  He looked around but didn’t immediately spot Miss French.  He was not anticipating a happy reception from her – neither from his atrocious behaviors on their wedding night nor from abandoning her here at the castle.   Feeling grim, he managed to make his way to his bedroom, intending to lie down and rest before attempting to draw on the great energies of the castle to heal himself. 

_He would have to deal with the fallout of his disastrous wedding night eventually.  He knew.  He knew he would deserve everything his bride could throw at him._

He walked into his old bedroom, and, immediately, he was battered with dark energies, pushing him, shoving him, nearly knocking him down, their touch making his wounds sting and burn.  The noise the entities emitted was deafening, composed of screaming, crying, aching sounds.  He pushed the creatures aside.  Even in his weakened state, he could tell that they were no match for his abilities.

But here in the bedroom, the swirling, frantic entities were not what astonished him the most.  There, high in the center of the room was a large, sparkling golden sphere, suspended in the middle of the room.  Inside the protective sphere, in the middle of the sphere, floated Miss French.  Her eyes were closed and her arms were outstretched.  He gaped – this was one of the most impressive pieces of magic he’d ever seen.

Then the howling of the entities brought him back to here and now.  He realized: _They had been attacking her!_

 _“_ Miss French!” he cried out and before he could say anything else, she opened her eyes and, seeing him, the sphere exploded showering the room with a rainbow of metallic sparkles and she collapsed, dropping, falling down into his arms. He caught her and held on to her as she threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him, crying.

“Oh, Count Stiltskin, I’m so glad you’re back!  It was awful!  I couldn’t sleep!  Those things were at me all night.  And they’re still here!  I didn’t know how to fight them.  I was so afraid!” 

 _This was hardly the reception he’d anticipated – her arms wrapped around him, clinging to him._ Without thinking, he gently lowered her to the floor, keeping his arms around her, offering her comfort and protection.  She was, as ever, soft and yielding . . . and she smelled good.  He found he liked holding her, feeling her melding into his own body. 

“Miss French, are you all right?  What happened?”  He spoke softly and, he hoped, comfortingly.

“Well, you left me!” she said accusingly.  “I explored a bit and found a library and then when it was bedtime the ghost came and warned me and then I did the protection spell but they were so noisy and kept trying to break in all night and I was so scared and had to concentrate so hard on keeping the barrier intact and I was afraid they would break through or if I nodded off, I might break the circle in my sleep and I’m so tired.”

And she laid her head on his shoulder, trusting him to protect her, and slumped, exhausted.

_What?! She had seen Bae?  And these creatures?  How had they gotten into his castle?  Why had they attacked her?  She was supposed to have been safe here in his castle._

“Oh, you poor sweet girl,” was all he could get out.  He glanced up and saw the entities had retreated.  He stroked her hair and then managed to get her over to his bed.  She curled up and went immediately to sleep.  He turned back to the room.  Using all of his _sight_ , he surveyed the room. 

There they were. Skulking in a corner.  Now a single dark shadow comprised of many life forces. 

They were afraid of him.

“All right there.  I see you.”  _He clamped down on the growing blindness caused by his own fatigue, the incapacitation caused by the pain of his own injuries – he had to deal with this, deal with them before he could rest and heal, deal with them before they hurt Miss French._

He went over to them.  “Let’s talk about your choices.”  The shadows tried to slither away but he held them fixed.  He examined them.  Something he had not seen in a long time. _Verlassen_. _They must have attached themselves to him or her and then slid off, waiting to attack Miss French.  Where had they picked them up?  On one of their hunts . . . or more likely at Cora’s mansion.  Yes, this might have been a purposeful attack on Miss French._  

Whatever _whoever_ was behind the attack, this was something he knew how to handle.  These things weren’t evil _per se_ , just greatly wronged and they burned to right the injustice that had been done to them. 

He addressed the entities, “You can leave this place.  Or, you can stay and I promise you, I will destroy you or. . .” he paused, “I can take you to a place where you will find peace and rest . . . and someone to remember you.”

The slick black shadow began to shift.

“Make your choice,” he told them and after a moment the shadows wound themselves into a tight ball and presented themselves to him.  He held out his hand and the dark gray smoke of the manifestation rolled into his palm.  With the other hand, he materialized a box and directed the multi-entity creature into it.  “I shall take you to Father Hopper and he will perform a burial ceremony for you.  You shall be laid to rest in consecrated ground with a marker so you shall never be forgotten again.  But,” and he locked the box.  “I shall have to wait a little while before I can get you to the good father and I don’t want you wandering the castle terrorizing my wife.”  He layered another level of constricting spells around the box, then set it aside and returned to the bed. 

Belle was laid out on the sheets and was breathing slowly and regularly, obviously in a deep sleep.  He sighed, debated a moment but, in too much pain and too tired to go elsewhere, he lay down beside her.  In a moment, exhausted and injured, he too had dozed off.

 **Blood**     

When Belle woke up she became simultaneously conscious of several things.  The sun was high up in the sky, the light streaming through the tall, slender windows.    She also realized that she was very warm.  The warmth, she quickly understood, came from the Count’s body being cuddled up next to hers.  He was spooning with her, his arm draped gently over her.  She shifted out from under him. 

The next thing she noticed was that she was covered in blood.  Not bathed in it, but there were great patches all over her.  She pulled back for a moment and then realized that the blood had come from him.  She carefully examined him, tipping him over onto his back.  There were multiple deep red patches coming through his heavy clothing. 

“So you do bleed after all,” she muttered to herself _._

She slipped from the bed and fetched a bowl with warm water (nice for it to be there for her) and a couple of soft cloths.  She used one of her own small scalpels, cutting off his vest, his shirt, pulling off his boots and sundry weapons as she worked. After some hesitation, she began to cut off his tight-fitting leather pants.  If the situation had been less grim, she might have smiled at the similarities between her own first meeting with the man and the current situation.  She found herself dropping clothing and weapons by the side of the bed much as he had done with her.  She eventually got down to removing his undershirt which left him only in his close underthings.  She couldn’t bring herself to remove these. Now she was able to sponge off the blood that covered him.

She quickly saw that his lean muscled body was covered with a crisscross of gouges, scratches that came in triples.  These lay over old scars, scars that looked like they were from knife wounds, distinctive puckered scars from gunshot wounds, _and were those scar lines from a lashing?_  She had limited healing talents but used what she could, instinctively drawing on the energies of the castle to help her.  She was able to completely heal up a number of the wounds and stop the others from bleeding.  She then rolled him over onto his stomach and did the same treatment over his back. 

She wanted to change the bloodied sheets and began the tricky task of rolling him back and forth to pull off the stained sheets and then repeating the task to put on a clean under sheet.  It was difficult not to linger over the lithe muscles and easy proportions of his body, green-gold and scaly as it was.  She covered him with another clean sheet.  She quickly changed her own clothing, putting on the little jumper and apron she’d worn the previous day and then went to find something to eat. 

She took a moment to remember her pathway to the dining room.  By now she had some idea of how the magic worked here and, sure enough, once in the dining room she found everything for breakfast – eggs, toast, fried potatoes.  And some coffee.  Everything was sitting in a large basket so she was easily able to carry it back upstairs.  She set it on the little table that was in the bedroom and sat down.

“Got enough for two?”

The lazy question had come from the bed.  The Count was awake.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you but I felt like you needed to have someone with you to keep a check on you,” she told him.

He stretched.  “I was planning on healing myself but I see you have done that already.  I didn’t know you had that particular talent.”

“I don’t, well, not really.  I used some of the castle’s magic to help out.”

He sat up and looked at her through narrowed eyes.  “You can channel magic?  That’s even more impressive than healing talent.”

“A little channeling,” she confessed. “What happened here?” she asked him.  “And what happened to you?”

“Which question first?” he asked as he got up and slipped on some linen pants and a loose fitting tunic that had been laid over the bottom of the bed.  He came over to sit next to her.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“I had an encounter with a particularly nasty _Schatten Scheusal_.”  At her puzzled look, he explained. “It’s a foul lesser demon, but a full demon nevertheless.  This one was able to resist my efforts to . . .  extinguish it.  And it attacked me.  When I didn’t return to my cell, Father Archie contacted Ruby Lucas, your were-friend, to find me.  She did and got me back to the Church.  My magic is stronger here at the castle, so I opted to return – to heal myself.”

“But then before you could heal yourself, you had to deal with me.  I guess I was pretty hysterical,” she seemed embarrassed.

“You were supposed to be safe here.  The _Verlassen_ must have attached itself to one of us and transported here with us.  They usually only attack when a person is asleep but they can kill you then . . . or possess you for a while . . .  before killing you.  I’m so sorry, Miss French.  I would never have left you here if I had known.”

“Count . . .” Belle began.

“Call me Rumple,” he told her.

“Rumple?” she asked.

“Old family name,” he shrugged it off. 

“All right. Co . . .  Rumple, why did you leave me here?” she asked him.

He seemed embarrassed and offered a stuttered explanation.  “Miss French, I was . . . I sometimes. . .  there is this . . . I was told by two parties I trust that you are . . . you will be . . . important to me, important to me in some manner.  I thought that I needed to keep you safe and having you here . . . you would be safe here.  It seems I was wrong.” He glanced up at her.  “And I was humiliated by my loss of control and my completely objectionable behavior the night before last.  I felt I was not able to even protect you from my own baser urges.  I am very, very sorry, but I didn’t know if you would be forgiving or . . .  that I was worthy of any forgiveness.”

Belle gave him a gentle smile.  She spoke slowly.  “We had been wed . . . and a wedding night is expected to follow a wedding ceremony.  We had not . . . talked about . . . what type of marriage we would have, but . . . I . . . I should have wished for a gentler start if we are to be . . . intimate.  Perhaps . . .  perhaps we can begin again?”  She looked at him, her eyes large and wary, a faint blush staining her cheeks. 

His heart flew into his throat. _She wasn’t traumatized or furious or  . . .  she was willing to give him another chance?!_

“Of course,” he managed to get out.  _She was willing to forgive him!  He barely heard what she was saying._

“Listen,  Count . . . Rumple, I . . .  I don’t want to be kept safe.  Don’t you understand?  I want to help. I want to be . . . .  I want to help in this fight.  I _can_ help.  You’ve seen me hunt.  You know I’m good at it.   With your help, I think I can be even better.”

_She had stopped talking. He should say something._

“I don’t want . . .  I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He laid his hand on hers.  She started to pull away but then stopped herself. Her pupils had widened and her body had tensed. _So, not completely untraumatized by his attack._

Belle felt her heart tighten.  _She was afraid of him – how could she not be? But at the moment, he seemed so genuine in his concern for her._  

“With the attack on me, here in your castle, I’m no safer here than if I were out fighting by your side,” Belle tried to reason with him.  “Why don’t you train me, teach me more, make me better?”

“I . . .” he had not expected this.  He did not finish his thought but sat back and looked at his bride. He quickly realized that he was staring at her in the form fitting day clothes she was wearing and tried to distract himself by nibbling at the rather excellent breakfast she had brought up.  He even found some orange marmalade in the basket, _ah, the castle knew him well_.

Still settled in the chair across from him, she began again, “Tell me more about this Strudel Thingy that you went up against.   I’ve seen you fight.  You’re awesome!  How did it defeat you?”

“ _Schatten Scheusal_ ,” he corrected automatically.  “Well, I wouldn’t say it defeated me . . .“ he protested.

“You were bleeding, covered with horrible scratch marks and you were close to passing out.  It kicked your very fine rear end,” she told him.  

“It got lucky,” he finally conceded.

“So what did you do to try to take it out?” she asked folding her hands together, now talking as one professional to another.

“I used my crossbow with the silver tipped arrows,” he told her.

“And?” she asked, nodding in agreement at his choice of the standard weapon.

“It was like shooting an arrow through fog,” he replied.

“And then?” she asked.  She unclasped her hands and touched a finger to her lips.

“I tried to use Holy Water but . . .” he hesitated _she had very pretty lips,_ “that only seemed to piss it off and did no real damage.”

“Anything else?” she asked him.

 _Soft, pink, very kissable lips._ “I was planning on using a binding spell, but it knocked it out of my hand before I could use it and then . . . and then, it kicked the cat crap out of me,” he confessed unwillingly.

“I see,” she said flexing her fingertips together.  “So what’s your plan when you go up against it again?” she asked eagerly.

He sat quietly _imagining her touching him with those fingertips_.  After a brief flickering glance, he dropped his head and avoided eye contact.

“You don’t have a plan!” she suddenly realized.  “You were just going to go back in there with nothing more than your good looks?!”

“Pretty much,” he nodded in agreement having the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

“Well,” she sat back.  “You need a plan.  What other weapons do you have at your disposal?  What other weapons do you know that might affect a . . . a Shady Spoozle?” she asked.

“ _Schatten Scheusal_ ,” he supplied.  “I . . . I don’t know,” he reluctantly told her.

“Well, you have a rather excellent library here.  Why don’t we, after breakfast, go and do some research?”

“Research?” he wasn’t at all sure about this.  “I’ve never used research before,” he complained shaking his head.  _So she had found The Library – of all the frickin’ rooms in the frickin’ castle, she had found The Library.  He considered.  To him, this implied that she had some affinity for books and reading and such.  Who would have thought his little witch warrior would also be a scholar?_

“Then why do you have all the books?” she asked him.

_As he lay dying, his best friend, Abraham, the last of the Van Helsings, had bequeathed him The Library, the greatest collection of arcane books, even greater than the collection found in the Vatican.  The Van Helsings, compulsive scholars that they were, had been the ones to name and describe the demons, which was why so many of the names were Germanic in origin._

“A friend willed them to me,” he told her.  He added gently, “He would have liked you, liked you very much.”  _Abraham would have adored this bookish side of her.  He probably wouldn’t have even noticed that she was stunningly beautiful._

Belle had to smile back at the man, “Nice.  So you’ve never thought to use any of those books to help you fight any of those things you fight?” she asked him.

“No. I’ve always just managed to go in with piss and vinegar and kick ass,” he told her.

“How’d that work out for you with this last Sharpen Sturkey?” she asked him.

“ _Schatten Scheusal,”_ he corrected.  “All right, not so good, but it would be different next time.”

She just looked at him and shook her head. “Why don’t we try using our brains before we use our bodies?” she asked him and stood to go on her way to The Library. 

Belle barely heard him mutter as he slowly traipsed after her, “Never had to use my brains before.”

“I can believe that,” she said called back to him.  If he made a response, she didn’t hear it.

Rumple reluctantly shuffled his way to The Library trailing behind the sturdy young hunter _keeping his eyes on her shapely rear_ thinking that Abraham would absolutely have approved of her with her books and her theories. 

 _Of course, Abraham had sometimes been a right royal pain in the ass with his books and his theories and both Rumple and Simon had frequently complained about Abraham’s frumpy preference for thought over action._  

Once inside the vast room, he stood for a moment before sighing, “All right then, research, but then I’m taking you out to the bailey and we’re going to practice some self-defense moves.”

 **The Library**      

It was a long morning . . . for both of them.  Belle quickly acclimated to his library and was pulling out different books, right and left.  She was able to rapidly peruse different books and discard them.  It seemed to her sometimes that the volumes she needed were jumping out for her hand to get.

For Rumple, research was clearly an uncomfortable, unfamiliar activity.  He’d never understood how Van Helsing had managed it, day in and day out.  Rumple would turn a few pages, feigning interest, and then close whatever book she’d handed off to him.   She’d promptly hand him another book. His head hurt.

_He really didn’t think the answer to fighting demons could be found in books._

_He was also finding being stuck in the dark stuffy room sitting so closely to his pretty wife was  . . . disturbing.  He remembered how soft she’d felt in his arms, how she’d clung to him.  He kept noticing little things, like how frail wisps of hair had escaped her messy bun and were curling around her face.  He noticed her bright blue eyes, now intent on what she was reading.  He noticed her hands, her delicate fingers skimming over pages as if she was gleaning knowledge through only her touch.  He noticed her pert figure straining against the simple clothing.  Her light sweet scent enveloped him and he found himself breathing it in, wanting more . . . ._

_What little focus he’d had quickly dissipated._

He was surprised mid-morning when Belle sat up and exclaimed that she might have found something. 

“This looks promising but, oh darn,” she said.  She looked up, concern furrowing her pleasant face as she looked over the material. “How’s your Middle German?”

He shook his head.  “About like my Old French.” When she looked up at him beaming, he knew he had to correct the impression he’d given, “I can’t help you.  I know a lot of names in German but my fluencies are limited to English, Scot Gaelic, Danish, Icelandic, Romanian and, of course, Faroese.”  _He knew a spell to give him short access to living languages but nothing for dead ones._

She sighed, “Well then, it will take me a little while to translate.”

“You speak Middle German?”

“A little German.  I picked it up when I went a semester to the Uni of Heidelberg.  I stayed with another coven there.  Oh but, of course, going there, my German is Schwabisch.”

“With the sloppy _esses_?  Ohhhkay,” Rumple responded.  _Van Helsing had been a professor for a while at Heidelberg, probably soon after it had first opened, a long time before Miss French would have walked its halls._

“Just give me a little time, all right?” Belle asked him already bending over the old handwritten volume.  Her eyes had glazed over and she was beginning to take notes on her reading.

He backed off, recognizing that she was absorbed in the material.  _He’d seen this same behavior in his old friend many times while the scholar worked out some puzzle._ Rumple brought her tea.  He brought her a light snack.  He brought her some sparkling water. 

After about two hours, she looked up.  “I think I’ve got it!”

“Tell me more,” he sat down, prepared to listen. 

“Well, given the parameters that you had provided, I was able to find more information on this particular creature, the _Schatten Scheusal_ , uh . . . shadow . . . uh . . . monster.  You were on the right track with silver and Holy Water, but we should add some other tools to your arsenal.  After reading this particular bestiary, I would suggest that we add some Blessed Water along with Holy Water and, because it has problems with light, we can use light to drive it and then could use a crystal to absorb its darkness.  We’d then shatter the crystal and collect the shards and bury them in holy grounds scattered across the earth.”

“All right,” he knew he sounded reluctant, but truthfully thought that her plan actually sounded pretty good.  “So you want to go and work out some in the bailey?” _He really needed to go and work out some in the bailey, anything to expend his excess of energy._

_And he had built up quite a bit of energy watching his pretty wife read – the woman would bite her lower lip while she was thinking and sometimes licked her upper lip, her pink tongue caressing each miniature curve.  He wanted to be the one biting and licking her lips._

_He knew he needed to work off his excess energies lest there be a repetition of their botched wedding night._

She rubbed her shoulders, “Sure, I could use a break.  Let me change . . .  will I have anything to change into?”

“The clothes you need will be up in the bedroom,” he assured her.

“How about my weapons?  The ones you took?” she asked.

“I’m holding on to them.  We’ll start with hand to hand and maybe get to wooden sticks,” he told her and got up, leaving her in The Library.

Belle started to argue with him about her weapons but, after a moment, decided that this wasn’t perhaps the best time.  Things were going well between them for the moment and she didn’t want to start anything up.

_She’d had enough to deal with this morning.  Besides the challenging translation, she’d had to focus hard throughout the morning to keep her eyes from wandering over to her husband’s linen-clad form.  The smooth flowing material caressed the man’s well-shaped body, occasionally clinging to the taut muscles of his behind, or in front, to the unmistakable bulge he sported.  He had fidgeted all morning, getting up and down, walking back and forth in front of her, unwittingly flaunting himself.  She had learned two nights ago that his mouth could be scorching hot and his hands and fingers, oh, they were so very clever. What would it be like if he ever turned his attentions to her -- gently, softly, kindly?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: The training continues and Rumple shares about his past.


	10. Milah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Rumple continue to train in the Dark Castle. Rumple shares somewhat of his life.

_The injured Gray Hunter returned to his castle only to find voracious creatures attacking his bride who has placed herself in a meditative state suspended in a protective sphere.  When he calls to her, she awakens, the sphere bursts, and she drops into his arms.  The Hunter puts her to bed and then corrals the threatening Verlassen.  He collapses onto the same bed where Miss French is now sleeping.  They slumber together, both recovering from difficult nights.  Miss French awakens first and heals her new husband.  He tells her how he was injured and apologizes for his behavior on his wedding night. They then discuss The Latest Threat that injured the Gray Hunter; Miss French suggests they research the demon in the castle’s library.  He is surprised to find his bride has a scholarly side.  He is finding himself more and more drawn to his pretty bride (and she to him).  Their next activity is for him to begin training her fighting skills._

**The Bailey**       

Belle was astonished at the man’s physical control.  Even while he was obviously still recovering from his duel with the shadow monster, he was still lightning fast and was capable of being quite deadly.  He repeatedly disarmed her, repeatedly tossed her on her rear end and repeatedly _technically_ killed her.  She realized very quickly that had she tried to fight him before – when they had first met -- she would have had no chance against him.  After a long afternoon, with only a short break for a brief lunch, her body aching from being tossed around, they called it quits. 

A simple supper was waiting for them:  cold potato salad, savory beans, cooked cabbage and freshly baked bread with hot tea to drink.  Belle dove into the food. 

He was sitting across from her.  She watched him from the corner of her eye.  In his glittery form, he was fascinating.  She had already picked up that he thought he was hideous, but she found him beautiful.  The unusual skin and the expressive eyes – perhaps not his matted hair and darkened nails which reminded her of claws.  But he was distinctive, intriguing, certainly as alluring in this form as he had been as the Count.  

He was finding that, at most, he could only manage passing glances at his bride.  She was breathtaking, even after the workout she’d been through.  She was the most exquisite thing he had ever had in his possession, well perhaps not in his possession – he knew she wouldn’t appreciate him thinking of her in those terms.  Perhaps the most exquisite thing he’d had under his protection.  Yes, yes, those terms might be acceptable to her. 

After supper, he brusquely directed her to the shower.  Surprised at finding this modern convenience in this medieval castle, she didn’t ask questions.  She washed off and changed out into some waiting soft pajamas, long silky blue pajamas with embroidered peacocks on one leg and on the back of the matching robe.    

_Knowing that Miss French was stripping off to get a shower, imagining her naked and wet was altogether too much for the imp.  He’d thought earlier that the expenditure of energy in physical activity would be enough to cool his ardor but he quickly found that every time he put his hands on her, his vision blurred and his blood would pool in his nether regions.  So much for re-focusing his energies.  While she was showering, he opted for a quick swim in the ocean, the cold waters succeeding in calming his body when all else had failed._

Coming out of the shower, Belle realized quickly that her husband had moved out of the main bedroom, leaving it to her.  She debated.  Her previous night in the room had been terrifying and she was unnerved at the prospect of spending another night alone in the place.  She went down the hall, relying on her inner psy-talents and her sense of smell (the man, especially in his demonic aspect, had a distinctly spicy, very enticing scent). 

She found him on the same floor in another similar bedroom.  He was sitting in a corner, sitting behind a giant spinning wheel.  His clothes had been changed into a clean pair of linen trousers and another plain tunic top.  His hair was damp.  He didn’t seem to notice when she came in.  She went over and sat down near him, watching his supple fingers slowly twist and feed the roving onto the wheel.  He seemed quite calm and very focused.    

“Yes, Miss French?”  he finally said.

“If I’m to call you Rumple, then you must call me Belle,” she told him, from her secure place on the floor. 

“All right.  Belle, can I do something for you?” He sounded kind and concerned.

“I am afraid to sleep in that other bedroom,” she confessed.

“I have addressed the _Verlassen_.  They are of no further threat to you,” he promised her, still feeding the roving onto the wheel.

“I am still uncomfortable.  It was the most difficult night of my life,” she shared.

“Perhaps we should switch bedrooms . . .” he suggested.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she told him, jumping to the point.

He faltered with his movements and stopped the wheel.

“Belle . . . “ he began.  “I am in control at the moment but I can’t promise you . . .” he looked away.

She understood.  _He didn’t want to hurt her.  He was protecting her._

“I don’t want to be alone,” she repeated, standing her ground.

“Perhaps if you took the bed,” he offered.  “I can sleep on the lounger,” and he gestured to the small sofa that was set in the bedroom.

“But that can’t be as comfortable as the bed,” she protested.

“Miss French . . . Belle,” he corrected himself.  “You saw my accommodations at the Church.  The lounger is more than adequate for me.”

“Perhaps I should be the one to sleep on the lounger.  I am the one having problems,” she suggested.

“I think you should take the bed,” he told her.  “I insist.”  He hesitated, “Please.”

Belle looked at the man.  He clearly did not want to share a bed with her – likely, she realized, for her own protection.  She nodded and took to the bed while he settled on the lounger. 

It was awkward but it served.

**Hot Springs**

The next morning, as she had the previous morning but under less stressful circumstances, Belle went to get breakfast.  She returned to the room to find that her husband was sitting on the large stone ledge that served as a window sill to one of the larger windows of the bedroom.  He was sitting out in drizzle, resting cross-legged and meditating. He soon came back inside and joined her for breakfast.  They dressed again in workout clothing and he began to teach her more self-defensive moves and more attack moves.  They took a break for a light lunch, rested for a short while and then begin again.  It was an exhausting day and Belle felt as if she had learned more in the past day and a half about fighting as she had in all her previous years of field practice. 

Rumple thought she was one of the fastest learners he’d ever worked with.  He also found quickly that they worked well as a team, covering for each other.  It was quite pleasant to think that he might have someone to cover his back.  _It had been a long time since he’d been with another fighter he could trust to fend for him._    

_Given her name – Belmont Morris-French – he now was almost entirely certain that she was descended from Simon, the single best fighter Rumple had ever encountered and Quincy Morris, an Adept Fighter.  After the disposal of the Great Vampire, Quincy had inherited Simon’s Gray Hunter mantle and, if Rumple recalled the events clearly, had quietly married Simon’s daughter, Sofia Belmont.  Likely Belle was descended from that union and her name reflected these two aspects of her Gray Hunter heritage.  Rumple had lost track of Quincy and his family after Milah . . . after Milah had been turned and Bae killed._

As she sat at the dinner table that evening, Belle became aware that she ached all over.  On her umpteenth time when she had landed face down in the dirt, she’d accepted that many of her much lauded skills were really sadly lacking.  All the same, she felt she had never worked so hard for so long.   While she slumped, picking over some beans and rice that she had been served for supper, Rumple smiled at her.

“You’re very good,” he told her.

“Really?” she had to ask, surprised.  “I had thought I was, but after sparring with you, I’ve come to realize that I don’t know squat.  I don’t think there was a single moment that there was any possibility that I could have taken you down.”

“Well, there wasn’t,” he agreed. “But I’ve done this a bit longer.  You’re still very good, and you’ve got room to get even better.”

“But, it’s scary.  What if I had come up against that Shaggin’ Stumpfel instead of you?”

“ _Schatten Scheusal_ ,” he corrected her automatically.  Then quietly, he said, “You might have died.”

She swallowed.  “Maybe I would be better off cowering here in your castle,” she said in a small voice.

He shook his head.  “Miss French . . . Belle,” he began.  “I’ve told you that I have reason to believe that you are important – to me, perhaps to others.  I don’t know why or how, but I know you are.”  He paused.  “I have been thinking it through.  After the _Verlassen_ , it is clear that you may not be entirely safe here at the castle.  I have some very powerful wards about this place but there are obviously cracks and ways into the castle that I haven’t anticipated.  And . . . and, I don’t think that staying here in the castle will allow you to fulfill your destiny.”  _Difficult for him to admit._

She looked at him, his amber eyes were bright, the pupils dilated in the dimness of the evening light.

“You think I should accompany you on your missions?” she asked him.

He didn’t look happy about it. “I think, yes,” he confirmed reluctantly.

She sighed.  “Well, then I guess I have to keep training,” she told him. 

“Start again tomorrow?” he asked her.

“I guess.”  She ate a couple more bites.  “You don’t have a hot tub here do you?  I hurt all over.”

He smiled very slowly.  “Something better.”  He stood and held his hand out to her.  “Come.”

Belle was more than slightly wary after his treatment of her two nights ago but did take his hand and allowed him to lead her along.  He made one quick stop to pick up a couple of large towels.  This time he took her down several flights of stairs and they ended up in the lowest levels of the castle.  Belle looked around – this area would easily qualify as a dungeon.  It was dark and damp and she was surprised when they came out into a larger cavern.  Inside the cavern, lit by soft blue lights, was a simple round pool filled with steaming water fogging out onto the cave floor.  As he stepped out into the cavern, his skin shimmered and much of the green-gold scales faded into warm-toned skin.  His eyes darkened to the familiar brown. 

She saw but didn’t say anything.

“Hot springs,” he told her.

“Really?”

“With a lot of minerals and good stuff.  Care to relax a little while?” he asked.

“Would I?  This is just the thing for after a workout.”  She looked around.  “Is there somewhere I can change and something I can change into?” she asked.

He shook his head.  “This cavern is mostly out of the range of the castle’s magic.  You’re on your own.  Here’s one of the towels.  I . . . I’ll turn my head.”

Belle hesitated but the hot water looked so inviting.  She stripped off down to her undies and slipped into the water, surprised to find there were seats carved into the side of the pool.   

“All right,” she told him and averted her eyes while he slipped his own clothing off.  She opened her eyes when she heard him settle next to her.

“This is wonderful,” she told him, her hands playing in the bubbly, foaming water.

“All these islands are riddled with these springs,” he told her.

“These islands?  Just exactly where are we?” she asked him.

“We’re on one of the Faroe Islands. This is one of the tiniest ones.  This castle stands by itself.  As far as most people know, this particular island is uninhabited.  The castle is shielded from sight,” he told her.  “Father Archie looked for it on the Google and the island just appears as a grassy place.”

“The Faroe Islands?” she shook her head.

“They’re midway between the northern islands of Scotland and Iceland.  We’re on the Gulf Stream so while the weather is wet, it’s not as cold as you might think it would be.”

“And your family is from here?” she asked.

“My mother’s family -- originally, a very long time ago,” he told her. 

She closed her eyes and soaked up the heat and healing from the warm waters.  “I don’t know anything about my family,” she told him.

“Really?” he asked her curiously.  _Was it possible that he knew more about who she was than she knew?_

“I was orphaned and ended up as an infant with the Coven,” she explained.  “The only thing I had of my family is my unusual name and, of course, my mother’s flail.”

“I’ve got The Flail safe,” he told her. And now he hesitated again _she should know who she was_ , “Your name and The Flail suggest that you might be a descendent of Quincy Morris and Simon Belmont,” he told her. 

“I know the name Simon Belmont, one of the Sabbattarians.  But who was Quincy Morris?”

“An Adept Fighter who joined with myself, Simon, and Van Helsing to defeat the Great Vampire more than a hundred years ago.”

“You fought Dracula?” she asked in awe.

“Yes.  Bram Stoker, who was the Recorder, the Author, of the time, noted Abraham, Abraham Van Helsing’s and Quincy’s contributions, although Stoker killed off Morris in the novel.  Actually it was Simon who died in the battle.  He and Quincy finally destroyed Dracula after Abraham figured out how it could be done.  The three of us, Simon, Abraham and myself, created The Flail for that purpose.   Simon passed on the Gray Hunter mantle and the weapon to Quincy, who was with him at the time he died.”

“So, you’re telling me that Stoker’s Dracula is historical fact?” Belle asked aghast.

“Not exactly.  But somewhat, yes,” Rumple admitted.

“And you were there?”

“Yes.  I met my wife, my first wife, at that time.  In Stoker’s book she is called Mina Harker.  In real life she was Milah Harper.  She was like you in many ways – strong, independent . . .  stubborn.” he added smiling.  “Plus she was another Adept Fighter, also like yourself.  Stoker didn’t put that in his novel as women were not regarded as having the capacity for being fighters at that time.  Nor did he record that Abraham, Simon and Quincy, as well as myself, were all her suitors . . . but she chose me.”

“Wait a minute,” Belle stopped him.  “Were you . . . were you like Jonathan Harker in the novel?”

“In many ways, yes.  My aunts had urged me to pursue a career, something to occupy me during the down times.  Earlier they had taught me their craft, spinning, but times change and later, I trained as a solicitor, an attorney.  I went to Dracula’s castle on official business, the sale of some property to the Vampire.  I was an expected, invited guest, so I was able to get through his wards.”  Rumple hesitated.  “I am embarrassed to admit that I was quite arrogant and smug about my abilities.  I . . .  rather . . . over-estimated my skills. Disastrously, I ended up staying as a ‘guest’ of the Vampire’s brides for a time.  I was lucky to escape alive.”

_He was the youngest of the three Gray Hunters of his time and he had lived a relatively secluded, protected life, raised first by monks and then his spinster aunts.  He had been ‘inexperienced’ when he was detained by the Brides.  They were fascinated by his recuperative powers, both the physical and the sexual.  They preyed on him and rapidly introduced him to a variety of lurid practices.  He had been most fortunate to escape and it had taken him weeks, months to put aside his experiences and become functional as a fighter again._

Belle watched him. He had become somber and distant.  She wanted to ask him more about what had happened while he was a prisoner and, more importantly, how he had escaped, but quickly sensed that it was a delicate subject. 

“So you were married to Mina Harker?” she finally asked.

“Milah Harper in real life.  I don’t know why Stoker changed some names and kept others.  And I certainly don’t know why Milah selected me.  Abraham was certainly smarter than I and Belmont the best fighter of us. Quincy was the sanest and the bravest, but, maybe, she appreciated my magic.  She certainly didn’t object to my true form.“

“You were happy then?” Belle asked.

“Very.  We had a son together.”  He looked away and became very quiet.  “Abraham and Simon had died and I was no longer in touch with Quincy.  Things had become very calm after Dracula’s death and my skills weren’t needed.  I had retired here with my little family and, I suppose, being away from the fray and the fight, I forgot how persistent my enemies could be.  I underestimated them.  When my son, who had become a young man, wanted to travel, we left the safety of this island.  My enemies were waiting for us and struck.  One of Dracula’s captains, still angered over the death of his master, kidnapped Milah.  He . . . _changed_ her and took her on as one of his wives.”

“And your son?” Belle asked quietly.

Rumple did not answer and Belle thought she might have crossed a line and become too personal.  Rumple sighed and finally shared, “He had fallen in love with a delightful young woman who was just as in love with him.  Both families very much approved and he and she were soon married.  She was a princess of the Saxe-Gotha line, a minor princess, but a royal nonetheless.  They were very happy together. But the same captain who took Milah from me, eventually went after my son’s wife too.  He _changed_ the princess, taking her for another wife and . . . “ Rumple couldn’t finish.

“He killed your son, didn’t he?” Belle asked.  _Was his son the ghost she had encountered?_

“Yes,” Rumple admitted, closing his eyes _trying not to re-live those moments when he’d witnessed the life flowing out of his son_.

“I’m so sorry,” Belle told him and laid her hand on his shoulder.  “You’ve known so much loss in your life, haven’t you?”

“It is one of the curses of longevity.  Everyone you know eventually dies.”  He laid his hand on top of hers.  “I’m sorry, I don’t usually talk about what happened to Milah or Bae or even the others who were like me.  It doesn’t bring them back or make things better.”  He sighed and looked her in the eye, “Why don’t we practice using wooden swords in combat tomorrow?” he asked her.

She recognized that he was changing the subject, that he had shared all that he wanted to about his own background.  “You will return my flail?” she asked him.

“When the time comes.  Definitely,” he promised.  _Although he hoped the time would never come._

The two had enjoyed the hot water for nearly a half hour.  Belle was feeling comfortably soothed and pampered. 

“I guess we should get out and go up to bed,” she finally suggested.

“I won’t look,” he told her again and she could see that he had closed his eyes.  She vaulted out of the water and quickly toweled herself dry, putting her clothes on over her wet under garments. 

“All right,” she told him and turned her back to him while he also got out and redressed.

She shivered on the way up the stairs. 

“The wet on my underwear is seeping through my other clothes,” she complained.

He stopped and waved his hands over her, drying her clothing.  “I wouldn’t know. I took my underwear off before I got in the pool.”

He began walking on but she stood still.  “You mean you were in the water . . . naked?” she asked.

“Of course.  I assumed you were too.  I didn’t want to end up putting dry clothes on over wet ones,” he explained innocently.

“Uh huh,” she answered him, starting after him again.  Once upstairs, she quickly stripped completely down and changed into the soft pajamas that the castle had given her.  He joined her in the bedroom, also ready for bed and, without any discussion, lay down on the lounger.

The next morning was similar to the day before, except they now fighting with crude weapons, such as wooden swords and long wooden poles.  Again, Belle felt that she was little more than a punching bag, although Rumple was clearly pulling his punches and not always following through with his throws and lunges.  There were a couple of times, he took her down and ended up with her lying beneath him.

Often enough, while lying together in this compromising position she would see his pupils expand, but each time, he would close his eyes and take several deep breaths and, ultimately, release her.  That evening, before accompanying him down to the hot spring, she wished for a proper bathing suit and a robe and was able to change up in the bedroom.  He smirked at her but did the same.

The bathing suits did make things easier.  On a whimsy, Belle grabbed a bottle of wine and a couple of wine glasses to take with them. 

Rumple hesitated when she offered him the wine.  “I don’t usually drink,” he reminded her.

“Suit yourself,” she told him.  “I’m just going to have one glass.  You have some choice stuff here and I’m hoping it might help me relax.”

“Just one glass?” he asked.  She nodded.  “Then . . . all right. I’ll have just one.”

“You won’t have to do confession or anything, will you?  I don’t want to be the one to lead you into sin.”

“I’m allowed,” he told her. 

“You’ve . . . you’ve had other women here . . . in this lovely hot spring?” she asked him as she sat back, allowing the heat to seep into her joints.

He smiled indulgently at her.  “Trying to find out more about your husband’s past, are you?”

“I’m sorry, I guess I am curious about you,” Belle admitted.  “You are a very mysterious man, you know.”

He nodded. “If you think so.  But I promise you, there have been only a very few ‘other women.’  Of course, I brought my bride here, a very long time ago,” he shared.

“Your bride?  Milah? You told me about her,” she suggested leaning back in the tub. “What happened to her, I mean is she still . . . _changed_?” Belle asked and then immediately backtracked.  “I’m sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t be asking.”

“It’s all right,” he shrugged.  “It was a long time ago, a very long time ago.”  He took a sip of the wine.  “She died the True Death.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I killed her,” he confessed, his eyes rising to meet hers, to gauge her reaction to his confession.

“Oh,” she said, now not sure what to say.

“The one who seduced her away from me had been high in Dracula's favor.  He was an old and powerful vampire and had become an enemy of mine.  I think he originally just meant to torture and then kill her as revenge on me but he was taken in by her beauty, her strength, her courage.  I think that after he _changed_ her into what he was, he genuinely favored her above his other wives.  Nothing was left of her soul when I encountered her again.  She had become a . . . a very dark entity.”  Rumple sighed. “Vampires are on my Kill List and when I met up with her again . . . well, I did my job and . . . I took her out.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle told him.  “In a way, it’s like you lost her twice.”

“It is,” he agreed, surprised at her insight. “And now her vampire lover, who had never looked at me with any favor to begin with, took what I had done rather personally.  He swore unending vengeance against me.”

“Is he . . . is the vampire still alive?” she asked.  “Surely you have taken him out by now?”

He shook his head.  “He’s a very powerful vampire.  He’s eluded me . . . so far.  It’s been a long fight.  I suspect one day we will face each other, but that day hasn’t happened yet.”

Subdued, Belle nodded.  “The . . . the ghost I met . . .”

Rumple looked up and interrupted her, “Let’s go back up.  I think we should return to the City tomorrow and take down the _Schatten Schuesal_.”

“You think, I’m ready?”  Belle shook her head.  “I . . . I don’t know.”

“You’re ready.  We’ll continue training, but field experience is also needed.  You’ve got some experience taking down minor nuisances.  This will be one of the bigger demi-demons you’ll ever face.” 

“All right,” Belle said, not feeling very sure of herself.  Even when he smiled at her, she didn’t feel sure of herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In researching the Belmont family (of Castlevania fame), I quickly encountered a convoluted, discontinuous, torturous mess of a family tree. I elected to abandon it and just go with my own devices for this family. -twyla
> 
> NEXT: Belle discovers more about her own heritage and a major confrontation occurs.


	11. Encounter

_Belle and Rumple have worked to build a relationship based on their mutual skills.  He has shared more of his disturbing early history with her, including the loss of his wife, his son and his daughter-in-law to a powerful vampire captain.  He has confessed to killing his wife after she had been changed by the vampire.  Rumple continues to share with Belle his suspicions of her own parentage which likely includes both Belmont and Morris bloodlines.  They have returned to town to deal with a particularly nasty Shooty Shady . . . uh, Schatten Scheusal, a lesser, but still powerful, demon._

**Back in Town**

They arrived back outside of the Church and went in to check in with Father Hopper.

“Miss French . . . uh Countess Stiltskin,” the young priest corrected himself.  “Are you all right?” He did seem genuinely concerned about Belle’s health.

“I’m fine, Father.  The Count has taken very good care of me,” she assured him. 

“Maybe you’re the right one for him,” Archie told her. 

“Father, may we have a room with a few more creature comforts?” Rumple asked him, coming up behind Belle.  “I’m accepting of the cot and meager accommodations for myself, but I would have my wife kept in more luxury.”

“Rumple,” she addressed him quietly.  “I was raised in a coven convent.  I’m fine with just the minimum.”

He brushed the back of his hand against her face.  “As my wife, I insist you receive the best.”  He leaned his head in towards her and whispered in her ear, “There are some small benefits being married to a monster.”

“You’re not . . .” she began and realized he was teasing her.  “Thank you, sir,” she shifted gears.  “Comfort is not needed, but it is appreciated.”

Archie had observed the tender gesture but had not heard their exchange. 

“I think we have a better room, one we keep for visiting dignitaries, that I can put you two in,” he told them and led them up through some corridors to a side area. 

Rumple pulled him aside and arranged for Archie to give him a vial of Holy Water and an extra empty vial.  Rumple also handed the young priest the box containing the _Verlassen_ and explained what needed to be done.  Archie was pained to hear the story of the lost souls now residing in the box and promised to have services for them the following morning and bury them in sanctified ground.  A plaque commemorating them would be placed above the grave. 

Belle looked around the room the priest had assigned them.  It was much nicer than the little cell in which Rumple had first ‘entertained’ her.  A plump bed, separate bathroom with all the facilities – overall it was like a nice hotel room.

“I think we’ll be all right here,” she told Rumple.  She looked around but didn’t see a place for him to sleep.

He’d followed her gaze.  “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he told her.

“No, you won’t.  If you won’t sleep next to me, then at least sleep above the covers.  I won’t have you sleeping on the floor.”

He opened his mouth to argue but then stopped, recognizing it was likely futile.  _He had quickly recognized that she was a stubborn little thing._   

He sighed.  “We have a little while before we need to go hunting.  Before we go to Undertown, we have one short errand to run and then I’d like you to meet some old friends,” he told her.  “I know they would like to meet you.”

“Of course,” she answered.  She was surprised and gratified to find out that he had any old friends.

“Supper too.  Wear something appropriate for the hunt,” he told her.  She nodded, but before dressing she finished her own preparations for the night’s hunt, taking the extra vial he’d gotten from Father Hopper, going into the garden, casting a circle, and properly blessing some tap water in the name of the Goddess. She placed it in one of her pockets along with the Holy Water Rumple had been able to provide.

“We still need a large crystal,” she told him.

“That’s our one short errand,” he agreed with her. 

Together, dressed in their simplest hunter garb, brown and black, leather and sturdy linen, they set off.  He led her to a small disreputable appearing store off one of the city’s dingier streets.  It was next to a shop that sold wigs and another one that sold vinyl records.  Belle recognized the place as a resale store, more or less a pawn shop.  There were a wide variety of items, clothes, books, some furniture, knick-knacks all scattered around the crowded shop.  It was dark and very dusty.  The floor creaked as they walked in and he led her toward the back of the shop.

There at the back of the place, a striking brunette woman dressed all in black was waiting.  Behind her was a wall of drawers and little doors, most of them sporting key holes.  “Rumple,” she greeted him from her place behind the counter. 

“Regina!” he greeted the woman and, leaning in, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek.  “Belle, I’d like you to meet one of my former magic students, Regina Forrest.  Her mother is Cora Mills, whom you know.  Regina was strong enough and smart enough to distance herself from her mother.  She runs this little shop where you can find the most amusing items.”  He turned to Regina.  “This is my bride, Regina.  I trust you to treat her with the same respect you would give to me.”

“Of course,” Regina glanced at Rumple and then smiled at Belle.  “I never thought that Rumple would marry. He’s a rather difficult man.”

Belle just smiled back at the woman.  She wasn’t quite sure if she liked Regina.  The woman seemed overly familiar with her husband and she wondered about the history between them.  She watched as Rumple engaged Regina in a conversation describing the crystal he wanted. 

Regina listened and nodded.  She turned and scanned the wall behind her, finally selecting one of the many drawers.  Her hand glowed blue as she unlocked the drawer and pulled it open to show him a selection of crystals.  He called Belle over to help him choose the best one for their purposes.  Together they selected a particularly large, clear one and he handed it off to Belle who pocketed it.

“Send the bill to the usual place?” Regina asked.

“No, this time, just for giggles, send it to your mother with my regards,” he told her, giving her a teasing smile.

She nodded.  “Best wishes to you two,” she called after them as they left.

“One of your former students?” Belle had to ask her husband once they had left the shop.

“Jealous?” he asked her smiling. 

“Should I be?”

“Regina’s been more like a daughter to me.  Hell, she could be my daughter.  ‘Course, Cora insists she’s not.”  He shrugged and continued, “When Regina’s magical talents began to manifest, she called on me to teach her.  She was determined not to turn out like her mother.”

“So you taught her magic . . . like you’ve been teaching me to fight?” asked Belle.

He nodded and explained, “Regina decided early on to move away from Mommy and opened the little shop you saw.  It’s really a Magic Shop, surprised you didn’t know about it.  Of course, if you’ve never needed anything magical, there’d be no reason to know about the place.  If you ever do need something special, something different, chances are Regina will have it or can get it for you.”

Belle digested this.  “So, I never knew about her shop because I’ve never needed it?”

“Exactly,” he agreed.  “I’ve thought about opening a little shop like hers  . . . when things calm down, you know.  Can you see me standing behind a counter in a little shop full of antiques and oddities?” he was smiling as he said this.

Belle considered.  “I could.  You’d wear an expensive suit, something really nice with a pocket handkerchief.  And you’d be there to help people out with all their problems.”

He thought a moment longer as they walked along the street and then shuddered and shook his head.  “I’m not the most sociable man, in case you haven’t noticed, my dear.  Not sure I could make all that work.”

Belle just smiled and followed him along.  Soon enough they arrived at Sudice’s.

His Auntie Nessie welcomed them, giving Rumple a hug.  “And this must be your lovely bride,” she held out both hands to Belle. 

Belle found herself giving the older woman a little curtsy, “Ma’am.” 

“Oh, doesn’t she have just lovely manners.  You two have a seat.  I’ll fetch you something special.”

Rumple guided Belle to a quiet corner table where they were soon joined by his Auntie Artie, the tallest of the sisters who brought a pot of tea to the table along with several cups.

“This is Lady Belle,” he introduced her.

“Belle?  Is that short for Belmont?” Artie asked her, her grey eyes examining Belle closely.

“Yes,” Belle was surprised.  _Most people, if they guessed, would have thought her name was Isabelle, not the far less common Belmont._  

“I thought I recognized you.  You’re one of Simon Belmont’s great grand offsprings.  You have his lovely blue eyes,” Auntie Artie said.  “And that little hint of red in your hair.”

“I don’t know who my parents were,” Belle told her.  “Rumple has shared that he thinks I might be related to both Simon Belmont and Quincy Morris.”

“Definitely Simon and . . . oh yes, that young Quincy Morris,” Artie chatted on.  “You have his manner, probably his spirit.  I always liked him, so brave.  He wasn’t a Hunter, not at first, but fought valiantly along with Simon, Rumple and Abraham to defeat the Great Vampire.  He was chosen to take on the official role of Gray Hunter when Simon died.   Quincy, I remember, had a daughter with that pretty little Sofia Belmont, Simon’s daughter.  Now, she had some remarkable talents.”

His Auntie talked on artlessly while Belle and Rumple both sat in open-mouthed amazement as she confirmed many of their suspicions.

It was at this point that his Auntie Enola joined them.  She placed a large glass of red wine in front of Belle.  “I see Artie has been sharing,” she observed.

“How long have you all known that Morris and Belmont had a living mutual offspring?” Rumple asked them.

Aunt Enola just smiled kindly, “We know all kinds of things, Rumple.  You know that.  Just as we know it’s important for you to figure out some things on your own.”

“So . . . am I like you?” Belle asked Rumple.  “Am I a Gray Hunter?” 

He didn’t respond right away.  “No,” he told her.  “The honor, such as it is, only goes to males.  You are an Adept Hunter, not a Gray Hunter, gifted with many of the skills but not with the responsibilities of the Gray Hunter.  It seems, according to my aunts, what we suspected is true.  You carry the Gray Hunter inheritance from both the Belmonts and the Morrises through your mother.   I really never knew your mother ever existed – I thought the Morrises and the Belmonts had both been wiped out.”

“He really didn’t know,” Enola spoke up on Rumple’s behalf. “The Coven of White Witches may not have known either . . . or they may have known and elected to keep your existence a secret – to protect you,” she explained.  “Apparently they did a very good job.”

“Do you . . . do you mean that my Mother Superior, Rheul Gorim, she knew, she knows, who I am?” Belle asked. _How could she not have been told? Rumple had told her some but he hadn’t been sure.  How could no one else have told her . . . anything?_

“Likely, but I don’t know that for sure,” Artie told her.  “It’s possible she simply believes you were a foundling with an auspicious name.”

“Who just also happened to carry the Belmont Flail,” Rumple muttered into his tea.

Belle turned to him sharply.  “Of course.  When you saw the flail you didn’t believe me that it had belonged to my mother.”

“I didn’t,” he agreed.  “Your story seemed absurd.  I now know differently.”

Belle sat still analyzing all the information she now had.  “So . . . any sons I may have. . . they will be like you?” she asked Rumple.  “They will have no choice but to be hunting dark creatures until one of those monsters finally kills them?”

Rumple didn’t answer.  He looked away.  “There are ways they can . . . quit being a Gray Hunter and be freed from The Burden. Sometimes the offering of freedom is made after an extraordinary showing of courage, sometimes after many, many years of service . . . .Of course, when one quits . . .  or dies, then it passes on to the next male heir.”

At that moment, Nessie arrived with their food, a warm wrap sandwich with fresh tomatoes and avocado and sprouts and a little local cheese.

“I don’t know that I’m hungry,” Belle confessed, trying to sort through her dark inheritance.  She was not just descended from the Hunters, but she was the last one of two families, of two lines of Gray Hunters. She now realized that her fighting skills, such as they were, likely reflected those blood lines.  But, more importantly, she now knew she would pass The Gray Hunter Burden on to any son she might have with Rumple – not because of who he was, but because of who she was.   She’d never asked for this. She could not, would not burden an unborn son with this all-consuming, desperately dark inheritance.  She took a drink of the wine.  _How could she not have been told?  She couldn’t let it go.  To be who she was – it meant her sons or her grandsons or whenever a male heir showed up, that child would have their future decided.  It wasn’t fair._

_It wasn’t fair.  People should be able to choose their own fate._

“If we’re going to fight the _Schatten Scheusal_ , you shouldn’t have any wine,” Rumple couldn’t stop himself from admonishing her.

“Screw you,” she told him and swilled the wine in one gulp.  “I’m leaving.” And she got up and left the shop. 

“Well, that went well,” said Enola blandly. 

“I’ve been trying to break it to her slowly,” Rumple turned on his Auntie Artie. _It had been too much, all in one conversation._

“Well, I assumed you had finished telling her,” Artie told him.

“How could I?  I still didn’t know for certainty,” he told her.  “It was the realization that should she ever have a son, then he would inherit the full burden that has set her off.  She’s rather independent and doesn’t like being told what she can and cannot do.”

“The woman needed to know. If she’s going to be sharing your bed, she should have already been told,” Artie waved him off. “And where is The Flail?  Why isn’t she carrying it?   It is hers after all.  She’s the best one to wield it.”  His aunt glared at him, “She’ll be fighting by your side and might just could use it.”

“I have it.  And . . .  well, now I don’t know if she is going to be fighting by my side.  Right now, she’s gone out there to  . . .”  _Oh shit!_

“Go after her, Rumple,” directed Nessie.

He got up, nodded and left his Aunties, the gray entities that had helped raise him.  Enola looked at her sisters after he left.  “I guess you didn’t get a chance to tell them about the rest of Miss Belle’s heritage?”

“No, didn’t mention the Van Helsing connection,” Artie confirmed. 

**The Demon Encounter**

At first Rumple wandered around aimlessly, just hoping he would catch sight of his bride.  He quickly realized this was not a plan and stopped a moment.  _What was it she had told him about using his brain before using his body?_ He closed his eyes and _sought_ her.  _By now he knew her scent, her aura, her essence and could easily feel where she was._  

_She had gone down, down through the Barrier into the Borderland Undertown._

He wasn’t sure what weapons she might have on her person but fervently hoped it included her usual arsenal.  She also had both the Holy Water and the Blessed Water and, he realized, the crystal.  He went after her.

It wasn’t long before he found her. 

But he wasn’t the only one to have found her.

His blood went cold. 

The Shadow had found her.

It had already cornered her.  She seemed remarkably unfazed, actually rather furious with The Thing for getting in her way.  He could feel her anger from down the block and, in his deepest thoughts, wondered why the Shadow hadn’t slunk away from her fury.  Then he saw that she had sprinkled the magical waters around them both and then somehow she’d gotten The Thing in a binding spell – a small one, but nonetheless very effective.  The Thing was bouncing and flapping around as if its foot was nailed to the floor, not truly bound but not free to move about either.   _He should have thought to do that when he first fought it._

It was screeching and flailing and trying frantically to slash at her, reaching out but just missing, like a snarling dog on a chain.  Belle was circling it the way one might circle a coiled snake.

_Good lord, if it should get free . . . ._

Rumple came up to her and pulled out the small torch he’d carried when hunting.

Without speaking, he turned it on and watched the Shadow flinch, unable to completely move away.  In turn, he was gratified to see Belle gravitate to a position on the other side of the circle _according to their practiced plan_.  She pulled out the crystal, her part of the plan to capture the creature and tossed it between herself and creature.  Using the light, he drove the creature forward, toward the crystal.

 _He would have preferred it if Belle had taken on the role of the torchbearer while he’d held the crystal, but she had argued that the creature would be more likely to go toward herself then toward him – of course that was before she knew she carried the same tainted blood that coursed through his own veins._ The creature did move toward her and, quite according to plan, began to slip inside the crystal.  At the last moment, Belle released the foot binding and the entire monster fell into the crystal like liquid metal slipping into a mold. 

“Darn,” he heard her swear as she bent down to pick up the smoking crystal.  “This thing is hot,” and she backed away from it.  It was now colored a murky brown. 

“Let’s get it back to the Church, so we can shatter it under a controlled situation.  I don’t want us to miss any of the shards,” he told her. 

She nodded and carefully picked up the bobble, still smoking hot.  She winced.

“Here,” he told her, taking it from her.  He wore half gloves on his hand and was able to manage the crystal more easily.  He dropped it into one of his larger pouches. 

They began to walk back to the Church.

“Would you mind telling me what the hell you thought you were doing?” he asked her conversationally as they walked along.  He was furious and barely keeping himself in check.

“I was fighting a demon,” she responded immediately.

“Yes, a demon that had already done serious hurt to me.  And you thought you could take it on by yourself?” his somehow managed to keep his voice steady.

She hesitated. “I . . . I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly,” she admitted.

He stopped and spun her around to face him.  “Damn right you weren’t thinking clearly.  I haven’t waited for you for this long just to have you eaten up by some monster because you’re in a snit. I came around that corner and saw you face to face with that thing and my heart stopped.  I understand you were upset but that was no reason to put yourself in danger.”  He swallowed and backed her up so that she was up against a wall. “Understand wife, that I come from a generation of men that would not have thought twice about putting a foolish wife over their knee.”

“What?!” Belle wasn’t sure if he was threatening her.

“If I went with my gut, you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week for such a stunt.  But . . .  I’m not a man who was ever comfortable beating a woman and Father Archie has counseled me that it is bad form for a man to hit a woman for any reason.  Or shake some sense into her or . . .  So, as it is . . .” he floundered and then, before she could respond to his fiercely angry comments, he abruptly grabbed her and began kissing her quite thoroughly. 

Intense, burning, possessive. 

Her head fell back and her bones turned to water as she collapsed, her thoughts blurring as her body heated up.  He was holding her in an iron grip, her arms held to her sides.  He was all hardness and angles and she felt her body easily yielding to his.  The deeper, more thoroughly he kissed her, the more dizzy, the more disoriented she became.  She began shaking.  Helplessly, her mouth opened to his and she clumsily, barely, managed to reach up to hold onto his coat lapels.  Pulled up against him, held against his body, there was no mistaking his desire.

_This was different from any other kiss the man had given her – certainly not like the chaste kiss from the marriage ceremony nor the brutal invasion of their wedding night, this was demanding, consuming and . . . it was delicious.  This was soul-touching, searing into her heart, her brain._

Then he abruptly stopped kissed her and simply held onto her, his breathing ragged. 

“Belle, Belle, please, I couldn’t . . . I was afraid . . . I don’t want to lose you, too,” he finally got out.  He released her and she staggered back.  He stepped away and shook himself, quickly turning to continue on his way back to the Church. 

When she didn’t immediately follow, he called back to her, “Are you coming?”

“I was pretty close there,” she managed to gasp out.  And then she took several more deep breaths and, on trembling limbs, she followed him.

They walked in silence for a while and it was as if the passionate interlude had never happened, the heat of it dissolving into the cool dark of the night.

It had been a few minutes before he spoke, “I had a lot of anger and thought that kissing you was a better choice than beating you.  I’m sorry, I think I crossed a line . . . again.  Are you all right?”

“Yeah, sure,” she was still a bit overwhelmed by the incident.  “I’m fine.  And you were right.  I was upset and behaved impulsively.  I could have been killed.”

He stopped and look back at her.  “Thank you.  I guess we both need to be careful.”

“That wasn’t so hard,” she told him.  “Taking down the _Schatten Scheusal,_  I mean.”

“We had a plan,” he responded shortly and began walking again.

“I guess having a plan does make things easier.”

“It does,” he agreed.  He missed seeing Belle's small smile.

They continued walking in silence. As they neared the Church, he had to speak up, he had to ask, “Are you angry with me, not telling you more about who you were and what it meant?”

“Yes and no.  You only suspected who I was.  That is right, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.  Even after the wedding, I wasn’t completely sure, but when I heard your name -- Belmont Morris-French – well, I knew then that you were somehow connected with the Belmonts and the Morrises.   I had wondered how you had gotten The Belmont Flail – it is a rather remarkable and recognizable weapon. The Flail, your name, your fighting skills . . . . I had to suspect that you were another Adept Hunter and likely someone with Hunter blood.”

“I think I’m most angry at Mother Superior for concealing my identity.”

“Well,” he winced at finding himself speaking up to defend the older coven leader.  “She may not have known.  You could have well been left on her doorstep with a note and the weapon.”

Belle had to smile at this image.  “Perhaps, but I can’t help but think she knew.”

“So what?” he asked.  “She should have told you . . . what?  when?  It’s not an easy thing to hear about yourself, my dear.  Take it from someone who always knew.  I think I might have preferred to spend some small part of my life in ignorance.”

Belle digested this and nodded.  “Perhaps.  I guess there was no good way out of this.  How did it happen that your Aunties knew?”

“Because they are not ordinary women.  I thought you would have figured that out,” he told her gently.  “They aren’t really my aunts, you know.  Just the three ladies who raised me and had me call them Auntie.  I think they have been known by many other names across time.  They certainly know all the past and seem to know a lot of the future.  I’ve never seen them afraid of any entity and I saw them back down some pretty fearsome creatures when I was growing up with them.”

**Back at the Church**

As they stood before the alter of the Church, with Archie in attendance, they shattered the crystal and gathered up each sliver to box up separately and then to send around the world to different destinations. 

“This wasn’t the Big Bad, was it?” Belle had to ask him. 

He smiled and shook his head.  “This . . . this was just a warning shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Rumple recruits another Adept Fighter  
> They learn of the First Rider


	12. Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple recruits another Adept Fighter  
> They learn of the First Rider

_Belle has confirmed her notable bloodlines and learned that the Gray Hunter responsibilities will be passed on to her first male heir.  Angry at the truth having been kept from her and the unfairness of destiny, she has left her husband and his aunts and gone out on her own.  She soon encountered the Schatten Scheusal but, with Rumple’s timely arrival, the two were successful in defeating the monster.  He has shared his displeasure at her irresponsible behavior and, rather than raising his hand to her, has instead given her a deeply passionate kiss, unsettling them both._

“This wasn’t the Big Bad, was it?” Belle had to ask him. 

He smiled and shook his head.  “This . . . this was just a warning shot.”

“But we should celebrate this, our victory.  I know just the place.”  And Belle led him away from the Church and down the street.

Rumple followed along reluctantly as they went into The Mad Hatter.  Ruby waved at them as they came in. 

“So, you two made up?” Ruby asked, coming right to the point.

“We’re married,” Belle told her.

“Get out!  Congratulations,” she nodded to Rumple.  “Here to celebrate?”

“Not the wedding but a little . . . uh . . . episode,” Belle was cautious, trying to explain. 

“Retribution or something milder?” Ruby inquired.

“Let’s get two Retributions,” Belle told her “You’ll like it,” she told Rumple over her shoulder. 

When Ruby returned with the seriously strong drinks, Rumple asked her, “Where’s your boss?”

“Out,” Ruby said shortly.  “Doing good deeds, helping widows and orphans, you know how he is.”

Rumple smiled and nodded.  “I do know.”  He sampled the drink and blinked his eyes.  “This seems rather strong.”  He took another drink.  “You’re bad for me you know, leading me into sin,” he told Belle.

“It’s just a drink,” she told him. 

_Above the bar the television reporter was speaking.  “There is increasing evidence that the illness is spreading and with it, panic.  An estimated thirty thousand people have been afflicted.  At this time no flights are allowed in or out of Andovia except for medical personal and supplies.  People are trying to flee the country and there are reports of desperate people being shot at the border to prevent them from leaving the country.  There is now concern that the illness has already spread.  There has been one case reported in Melbourne, two in London and one in San Francisco._

“Well, we deserve to celebrate,” Belle smiled at him.  He smiled back.  By habit both of them glanced around the bar, checking for exits and noting the variety of patrons.  Belle saw the man that had approached her in this same bar, now it seemed so long ago – the odd fellow who had paid for her drink.

When he saw her looking at him, the man nodded.

“You two know each other?” Rumple asked her after turning to see who she was looking at.

“We’ve met once.  He paid for my drink and told me you were dangerous.  What is he?” she asked.  “He looks human but . . .”

“Uri?  He’s an _Erzengel_ ,” Rumple told her without additional explanation.

_Still on the news channel, the reporter continued with the news.  “There has been additional gunfire in the town of Sooner.  Large, angry crowds have been gathering every evening and additional National Guard troops have been called in.  A task force to unite the differing factions has been suggested but there has been little progress pulling the different groups together._

_In further news, Ohio joins the growing list of states, now up to fifteen, to have a moratorium on grain and beef coming in from states with the fungus infection.  The Department of Agriculture is reporting ‘no progress’ in combating the fungus.  There is now a genuine shortage of meat in many areas.  The Department of Agriculture continues to monitor vegetables coming out of the infected areas._

At that moment, the strange individual, the _Erzengel_ , got up and came over to join them.  “Rumple,” he greeted the Dark Hunter.

“Belle,” Rumple began.  “This is Uri.”  He turned back to the man, “Uri, allow me to introduce you to Belle French.”

“Miss Belle.  Oh, but I should say, Countess Stiltskin,” the man took her hand and gave her a slight bow. “We’ve met once before.”  He looked Belle in the eyes and she could see that his eyes were an odd silver color. Belle shivered.  The man wasn’t evil, but there was an unearthliness to him.  Great power and a cold, hard intellect.

“Be careful,” he whispered to them.  “Together you are greater than if you fight alone. My blessing goes with you.”  He then nodded and made his way out of the bar.

“How did he know who I am . . . was . . . am?” Belle asked Rumple.

“He knows.  He just knows.”

“I think we’d already figured out that we fight well together,” she observed.

“But he did give us his blessing.  I’ve never had him do that, not even when I went off to Dracula’s castle,” Rumple shared, setting his drink back on the counter.  “I’m not sure what that means.”

The two of them sat quietly a moment.

“We did well?” Belle finally asked him.

“Yes, we did well,” he confirmed and finished his drink.  The two left the bar, walking hand in hand.  Belle couldn’t help but notice that Rumple was wobbly on his feet. 

 _Well, the man is not used to strong drink and he had a pretty powerful shot back there, Belle told herself._  

“We’re going back to the Church?” Rumple asked her, slightly slurring his speech.  He was clearly more than a little inebriated and feeling inordinately well.  He allowed himself to be led by Belle.

“Yes, dear,” she answered him and, as she could, hurried him along.

She realized that she’d been holding her breath while escorting the man and was more than a little relieved to get him back into their room for the night without him disturbing anyone.  In the large bedroom, he pulled her over to himself and kissed her.  _Not the passionately angry husband from Undertown nor the scary fierce all-consuming monster from the Dark Castle – just her hot, sexy Hunter husband, relaxed and amorous._   It was messy and wet and without any control or finesse.

He nuzzled her neck “I like kissing you.  You taste so good,” he muttered softly. _And she felt his tongue run up to her ear._ He then pulled back, “Did you get me drunk?” he asked her suspiciously. 

“I think you got yourself drunk,” she told him and planted a discrete kiss on his chest.

“You had the same stuff to drink as I did, maybe even more -- counting the wine from supper.”

He hadn’t released her.

“Well, alcohol doesn’t affect me,” she told him. _And she kissed his chest again, her lips lingering on his smooth, sweet skin._   

He snorted.  “That’s your dhampir blood.  Simon could drink an army battalion under the table.  It’s a neat skill . . .  and handy sometimes . . .  vampires like to get their intended victims drunk before they attack.  That’s how the Captain took down both Milah and Emma – he sweet-talked them and got them drunk.   I am not dhampir for all my demonic heritage and, admittedly, I’m . . . a little . . . affected by alcohol. It makes me . . . uh . . . tipsy,” he told her with a slow smile and pulled her closer for a second kiss.

This one was better, his hand going up to her head, holding her in place while he nudged her mouth open.  He put his other hand onto the small of her back and nestled her against his body.

This was nice, really nice and she gave herself over to the kiss, her arms going up to his shoulders to hold on. 

And then, “Ah, _frøkun_ , this is not appropriate,” he told her and pulled away, stepping away from her.

“But why not?” she asked him, reaching for him and frustrated when he would not allow her to touch him.  “We’re married.  It’s all right for us to be . . . close, to touch.”  She had liked these last kisses better than any others he had given her.  “I like kissing you too,” she told him shyly.  _His eyes had darkened and, at her words, heat flared in their whiskey-brown depths._

He hesitated but once his eyes met hers, he again reached for her and pulled her in to him.  This third kiss began slowly and softly, but quickly heated.  His arms reached around her, so that she could feel the entire length of his strong body, her own body beginning to vibrate, to throb in harmony with the sheer force of his heartbeat.  He stopped after a moment, closing his eyes.  She continued to kiss him along his chin and down his neck.

“My sweet girl, we will awaken the beast if we persist,” he warned her.  

She could see his eyes had become totally dark and he had begun to trace his nails down her arms. 

“I would ravage you, my dear, perhaps even rend you in my eagerness.”  She stopped kissing him and he stood absolutely still.  “I will return but I feel that I must cool myself before I can lie in the same room as you, _mein Engel_.”

And then he was gone. 

Belle gasped.  _He must have teleported.  He could not have moved that fast otherwise._ She felt on fire, aroused but un-satiated, as well as rejected and humiliated. Belle sighed.  There was nothing else to do except to take a cold shower, prepare for bed and lie down.

_Was there something about her or was it just him?  He was obviously attracted to her and she had told him that she liked his kisses.  She’d encouraged his closeness. But he kept rejecting her._

**The Church Garden**

Rumple walked through the empty Church.  Teleporting inside the Church grounds was exquisitely painful but he’d felt it had been necessary.  He would never had made it out of that room walking. 

He knew the Church grounds well and, as was his custom – especially when he was upset, he went to the enclosed garden to try to pull himself back together. 

He was drunk, he realized.  He hadn’t felt like this in years, hell in centuries.  He was trying to think things over – he had a beautiful wife.  She was tolerant of his hands upon her lush, little body, even, perhaps, he thought, welcoming of his touch.  But he wasn’t worthy of her, not an angel like her.   She was simply being brave to try to honor her marriage vows, simply being kind to a monster.

_And he had a history with women.  He knew he had unwittingly hurt his first bride on their wedding night.  Milah had cried after her deflowering and he’d had to be very gentle with her thereafter.  He had learned but it had been a hard lesson for him.  As for his time with Cora, she had quickly let him know that he had superior equipment but lacked finesse, calling him a clumsy peasant early in their relationship.  He didn’t want to risk another failure with Belle._

He was surprised when Archie walked by.  The young priest saw him and came out to talk to him.

“You two have done well together, I think,” Archie told him.  “She is a fit mate for you.”

Rumple shakes his head.  “She is so far above me, Archie.  I can’t believe she accepted me.” He hesitated a moment before he began slowly, “I was prepared for us to live chastely, but . . . she seems to be comfortable with me and has encouraged my advances.  Archie, I haven’t been able to . . . I haven’t been a proper husband to her.  I’m afraid . . . I’m afraid I will hurt her.”

Archie sat quietly for a moment.  Rumple had always liked this introspective quality about the priest.  “She is a full-grown woman, Rumple.  And if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that women are very, very strong – in many ways stronger than men.  You say she seems comfortable with you and has encouraged your attentions?” he asked delicately.

“Yes, if anything she has invited me into her bed.  But I . . . I can’t.  I don’t feel worthy of her.  Father, back at the Dark Castle I could see . . . I could see that she is . . . very special.”

“When the time is right, Rumple.  When the time is right, things will happen as they are meant to.”

“Perhaps.”  The two men sat together for a moment.  Rumple then turned on the young priest, “Archie, have you . . . I know you’re a priest and all, but have you ever had feelings for a woman?”

“I’m a man, Rumple.  Of course, I have.”

Rumple nodded.  “So, how did you . . . what did you do?”

Archie hesitated.  “I prayed for strength, that I would do the right thing.”

“How did it work out?”

Archie smiled.  “I’m still praying,” he admitted.

“Me too,” Rumple told him and then sat back to look hard at the priest, “You didn’t stop by just to ask me about the state of my marriage.”

Archie nearly blushed.  “No, I’m afraid not.  This illness in Andovia -- _Beschadigt Blut_.  Priests there have identified it as a manifestation of the First Rider – the _Weisse Reiter_.”

Rumple sucked in his breath.  He had heard the news reports.  _Beschadigt Blut --Corrupted Blood._

_There had been other outbreaks of such diseases throughout history --the Black Plague, smallpox, Spanish Flu, HIV, Ebola, all were manifestations, a testing of the waters for the First Rider.  Not always massive in its impact, sometimes just relatively small populations were affected.  He recalled the one that wiped out some Native American populations in the late 1700’s.  The Europeans were blamed for giving the Indians blankets infected with “smallpox,” spreading the disease like wildfire._

“Tell me what they’re thinking they’re fighting?” Rumple asked the priest.

“Some type of plague, a new form of hemorrhagic fever,” Archie told him.  “But we know this is the _Weisse Reiter_ striking first.  You will need help with this one.”

So it had begun.

**An Old Friend**

Belle stirred, feeling unfamiliar soft sheets under her cheek.  She looked over and found her husband sprawled out on the bed, lying on the outside of the blankets.  His arm lay across her, his hand wrapped around her upper arm.  He lay with his face towards her so she took the opportunity to look her enigmatic wizard-warrior over while he slumbered. 

He had fine brown hair which was peppered with grey.  He kept it longer than was fashionable and she liked how there was the hint of curl in some of the stray strands.  There were a few lines around his eyes.  Long lashes.  His nose was inelegant, perhaps it had been broken.  His lips -- she shivered, remembering how his lips could evoke unfamiliar, yet quite pleasant, feelings from her if he chose to place them on her neck or her face . . . or her own lips.

_Well, at least they’d gotten to the point that he was sleeping in the same bed._

She carefully slipped from the bed and took care of morning necessities, finally dressing herself.  Optimistically she returned to her husband and, her courage in hand, she gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead.

He awakened immediately, grabbed both her arms in a harsh grip and quickly pulled her over on top of himself, then rolled so that she was underneath him.  He blinked awake and winced with the distress the abrupt movements had caused him.

“Oh, it’s you.  Sorry.  Reflex.  Force of habit.”  He didn’t let her go. He had her pinned beneath him.

She gazed up at him.  “Bit of hangover this morning?” she asked mischievously. _His eyes were still their rich whiskey brown.  He was still her Hunter, not the dark imp that had appeared to her in the castle._

He licked his lips and furrowed his brow.  “No, not at all.  I do have some gremlins that have taken up residence between my ears and they’re tormenting screech owls with jackhammers.  I will need to exorcise them.”  He continued to look down at her and slowly his hands released his grip and he began to move his hands up her arms.

“Why don’t I get you some water and then you can get a shower,” Belle managed to murmur. “Then I’ll take you out for something to eat.” 

His hands had made their way up to her shoulders and now were tracking over to her neck. She shuddered, not from any cold, certainly not revulsion.  Then his thumb grazed the outline of her lips.

“Food?  Ick,” he told her softly.  They were now both very still.  He seemed to be getting closer or maybe she was raising her head just a bit.  Their lips touched and a very gentle morning kiss began.  One of Belle’s hands went up to his head, her fingers entwining in his long, silky hair.  She could feel him pressing against her.  There was no question, even in her innocence, that he was interested in her.  She shifted and heard him groan.  The kiss deepened.

There was a knock on the door.  They froze.

“All right. Fortune has intervened.”  He muttered and pulled away.  He gave her a sad smile, “Lady wife, could you see to the door, please.  I need to set about getting ready for the day.” And he rolled off of her.

Belle reluctantly sat up and left the warm bed.  She dragged herself over to the door and cracked it open.  It was Father Hopper.

“Miss French . . . Belle . . .  I mean, Countess.  Is everything all right?  I know you two got in very late and  . . . I just was checking . . .  I wanted to be sure you were all right, I mean, that everything was all right,” the kindly priest stumbled over his words. 

“Everything is fine, Father. Thank you,” Belle assured him, realizing the man was actually checking to be sure she was intact . . . well, at least, all right. 

She closed the door and turned back into the room.  She now heard the shower running.  Shortly her husband came out, dressed in leathers and rubbing his head with a towel.      

“Countess Stiltskin,” he began. “we’re needed.”

“Another job?” she asked.  _Is this what his life was like, going from one assignment to the next? Was this now to be her life?_

“This one’s more of A Mission.  I need to go and get a friend, Jefferson,” he told her.

“Jefferson?” she asked.

“The owner of the Mad Hatter Bar,” he told her.

Belle shrugged. _Ruby’s boss._ “Breakfast first?” she asked him.

He pulled a face.  “We could get something here.  It’s usually tough bread and really rank coffee, tea only if you’re lucky.”

“We can do better.  Let me take you out?” she asked him.

He looked her over.  She was dressed in black pants with a leather vest.  She looked splendid.  “Love to,” he told her.

The two both opted for the venerated veggie bowl from the Tupelo Honey Café and were soon ready to proceed on.  As they approached the bar at little before ten, Rumple pronounced that food and fluids and three aspirin had much improved the jackhammering and thanked Belle for looking out for him. 

“Of course,” he reminded her. “You were the one that forced me to get that cursed devil drink.”

“You’re a grown man.  You make your own decisions,” she told him.

They stood outside the bar by a side door that opened to some stairs.  Apparently Jefferson’s apartment was above the bar and accessed by this same side door and stairs.  Rumple opened the locked door to the stairs with a wave of his hand.  They went up the narrow, dimly lit flight of stairs and then Rumple began to pound on the door of the apartment.  Eventually they heard shuffling sounds and metal against metal as someone on the other side of the door opened the lock.

“You had better be from Immigration or offering me sex, or you should prepare yourself to die!” Belle heard someone with a thick accent shout as the door burst open.  Belle could now see a handsome, but clearly disgruntled young man clad only in his briefs standing in the doorway. 

“Stuff it, Jefferson,” Rumple told him and walked on into the bar.  Belle followed.

“Rumple Stiltskin, I might have known,” Jefferson appeared dejected.  “Here, I make us drinks.”

“It’s ten o’clock in the morning!” Rumple protested.

“If you have come to see me, I need a drink,” Jefferson assured him and he went on into the bar to pull out some vodka and two glasses.

Belle assessed the man standing behind Rumple.  The man was quite handsome, tall and graceful.  His sinewy body sported a number of scars, probably as many, possibly more, than Rumple had.

“Belle,” Rumple made introductions, “this is my very good friend, Jefferson.  Jefferson, this is Belle.”

Jefferson turned his attention onto Belle, noticing her for the first time.  He looked her over appreciatively.  “ _Krasivaya_!” Jefferson said and turned back to Rumple.  “How did you get her to trail along with you?” he asked and then added a third glass.  He poured them all a drink.

“I married her,” Rumple told him, rejecting the glass.  Belle took hers and downed the vodka in a single quick action.

Jefferson raised an eyebrow and smiled.  He raised his glass to Belle and then downed his own drink. He turned back to Rumple, “I’m sure there’s a story.”  He looked around Rumple and spoke to Belle, “You are married to this one?” he asked her.

“I am, sir,” she told him.  She was already liking the tall young man.  He was obviously outgoing and gregarious and _how ever had he hooked up with the very grumpy Count Von Stiltskin?_

Jefferson shook his head and said to Rumple, “You must have shown her your dick. That’s the only way you could have gotten a woman to marry you.”

Rumple nearly smiled, “There was no dick showing.  I just proposed,” he reiterated. 

Jefferson huffed.  “Likely story.  Now, why are you here, my friend?  It’s not like you to come for a social call.”

“ _Weisse Reiter_ ,” Rumple responded.

There was a long pause – a long pause.  “I get my shovel,” Jefferson told him grimly and disappeared into a back room.

And in a brief moment the man was back, dressed in black pants and a _teinvashka_ – the iconic blue and white striped pullover favored by Russian sailors.  He carried a small backpack _which included the aforementioned shovel hanging on the outside._

“I leave note for Ruby by register.  She can run the bar while I’m gone. Let’s go,” he told them.

Belle was quite puzzled.  Obviously the two men knew each other well.  She could feel waves of magic coming from Jefferson but wasn’t quite sure what his particular talent might be.  _It was wild and undisciplined magic, but very powerful.  Untrained, unfocused and unpredictable._     

After leaving the note for Ruby, the three returned to an area just beyond the Church yard and, at Rumple’s direction, they held hands . . . .

**Blood Fields**

There was the now familiar whirling sense and the three were standing in a field.    As they looked around they saw they were in an endless tent city with a field of cots and blankets spread on the ground and so many bodies, the living and the dying and their grieving, frightened, angry families.  The rank smell of death and disease overwhelmed them immediately and both Belle and Jefferson gagged and staggered.

“Oh, Mother Goddess!” Belle gasped.  “What is going on?”

“An air-borne plague, likely with a two to three-week incubation period,” Rumple told her succinctly.  “We need to find someone.”

“Who?” Jefferson asked him.

“A CDC epidemiologist, Dr. Fah-el.  He’s a brilliant researcher dealing primarily with BSL-4 diseases,” Rumple explained.

Jefferson looked at Belle.   “You understand him?”

“BSL-4.  Bio-safety Level 4, the rating for the most serious illnesses known to man.  They are usually incurable and many are airborne,” Belle explained.  “Diseases like Marberg and Ebola are BSL-4, both hemorrhagic – blood -- fever types of illnesses.  Bubonic Plague and SARS are BSL-3 and diseases like HIV and MRSA are BSL-2.”

“Pretty serious stuff then,” Jefferson said.

“I would guess,” Belle said in a small voice.  They were following Rumple who was making his way between the rows of makeshift hospital tents. 

They were stopped by soldiers wearing face masks who quickly surrounded them.  They turned their guns on the three.

Rumple stepped up and addressed the young man who appeared to be in charge.  With a wave of his hand, he began talking, his voice sharp and commanding. _Belle guessed that he had used some type of communication spell – assuming there was such a thing._ Rumple apparently garnered their attention.

The soldiers murmured among themselves and eventually one of them trotted off.

“What did you say to them?” Jefferson asked him.

“I said I needed to see Dr. Fah-el.  For one of them to tell him that Count Von Stiltskin is here to see him.”

“And that will get us in?” Jefferson asked.

“Should,” Rumple said.  “Otherwise, I’ll just blow a path through these people.

It was more than ten minutes but the soldier returned and, after speaking briefly with the others in his troop, he deferentially escorted the three through to one of the larger tents.  Inside, the doctor was waiting for them, dropping his protective gear into a sealed container as they came in.  He was a short man, with dark hair and middling dark skin.  He had odd silver colored eyes. He greeted Rumple happily.

“Rumple!  So glad you could join us.” He and Rumple gave each other brief hugs.

“Rafe, good to see you,” Rumple told him.

“Who are your friends?” the doctor asked, smiling at Belle and Jefferson.

Rumple made quick introductions, “This is the Lady Belle, my wife, and Jefferson, my friend.  What is it?”

The Doctor sighed.  “What you think it is.  The others . . . they all think we are fighting a new plague, a new Ebola – another air-borne hemorrhagic fever with no cure.  But you and I know, we know, it is nothing less than the breath of the _Weisse Reiter_.”

“Where can we find it?” Rumple asked the doctor.

The doctor shook his head.  “I don’t know.  There are so many places.  Somewhere with much illness but older, much older, than this place.  You will need to scry and then you will need something to put it in.”

“Do you think a Dybbeck Box would do the trick?” Rumple asked the doctor.

The doctor considered and slowly nodded.  “Possibly, if it were made of rowan wood with silver bindings and properly blessed.  But you would have to find the Rider first and then find some way to get it into the box.” 

“Any suggestions on that?” Rumple pressed the doctor.  “I would think something this powerful would just get pissed off if I splashed it with Holy Water.”

The doctor nearly laughed but then soberly agreed.  “Likely.  It would have the usual aversions but nothing you’ve mentioned would drive it before you.”

Belle had been listening and she spoke up, “I have an idea.  It’s kinda farfetched.”

And everyone turned to listen to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Belle's plan unfolds but there are some disastrous consequences.


	13. Scrying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle’s plan unfolds but there are some disastrous consequences.

_Their relationship is heating up but is, as yet, unconsummated. Rumple and Belle have accepted a dangerous mission to go up against the Weisse Reiter, which has taken the form of a new deadly air-borne blood fever.  Rumple has recruited an old friend whom Belle senses has the potential for wild, undisciplined magic.  They have arrived in a field tent hospital for victims of the illness and they have consulted with a brilliant physician for their best course of action. Belle has suggested a plan._

They had a plan.  Miraculously, they had a plan.   Rumple recognized the improbable, remarkable impossibility of their situation – but they had a plan. 

He had a spark of hope that this might just work.

This was all so different than when he had worked with Simon and Abraham.  They’d had their roles and he’d had his.  Now, it seemed that everyone was coming to him, looking to him to fulfill the roles of scholar, fighter, and magic wielder.  It had taken three Gray Hunters to do this job in centuries past, how could anyone think that one lone Hunter could do the job? 

He certainly had never thought that he could do the job.

Earlier, he had assumed it was the End of Days, that he would go down swinging, but nonetheless, go down.  And he would be followed by the rest of humanity.  His only regret was that he had met Belle at the twelfth of forever – instead of earlier. 

But now, things were different.  It seemed like things were coming together.  Belle seemed to have stepped into Abraham’s scholar role and, he thought, Jefferson might be able to take on Simon’s fighter job.  He could only hope.

He had only hope.

And now, he truly felt, they had a chance.

They had a plan.     

“Now, where should we look for it?” Rumple had asked the doctor after they had made their plan.

“You know the most likely places.  I would think some place relatively close in,” Dr. Fah-el shook his head.  “Perhaps, I can help.”  The doctor then removed an odd pendant from about his neck.  “Perhaps if you use this with a map?” he suggested and handed it over to Rumple. 

Rumple nodded and pocketed the pendant.  “I think I know where to start.”   Then he hesitated, “Uh . . . can I take my friends out from here?”

The doctor looked over Belle and Jefferson.  “I think so.  Hope to hear from you soon. Good luck.  You have my blessing.”

Rumple turned back to his friends.  “Come on – hold on to my hand,” he directed them.

Belle felt the now familiar vaguely nauseating forces that represented the teleportation matrix. 

“We’re back at the Church,” she recognized her surroundings. 

“Yeah.  I need to go see Regina.  You two   . . .” Rumple looked from Jefferson to Belle and momentarily floundered.  “You two . . . don’t get into trouble,” he finally said and then he turned and left them.

They stood a moment.

“Well, Lady Belle.  Would you like drink or food or both?” Jefferson asked her.

“Both, I think.  Teleportation always makes me a bit . . .”  she waffled her hand.

“Me too,” Jefferson agreed.

He and Belle made their way down to the Wicked Weed where they ordered burgers off the menu along with Belgian quads.   

“Tell me, how you meet the Count?” Jefferson asked her.

“On the streets.  We kept running into each other,” Belle felt this was the truth and was comfortable sharing.

“So how did he get you to marry him?” Jefferson asked.

“He agreed to save mankind if I would marry him,” she replied honestly.

This didn’t faze Jefferson.  He considered this and nodded.  “He must care for you.  He’s saved mankind many times over and never demanded beautiful bride as payment.”

“Really?” Belle realized there was still much about her husband that she didn’t know, “So how did you two meet?

“I was _Spetsnaz_ – Russian special forces.”  Jefferson hesitated, “I was at Gozny.”

Belle shook her head.  “There was some type of conflict there but I’m sorry, I don’t remember much about it.”

“Chechuan rebels took over hospital.  I met the Count in the hallways.  While I was fighting off men who made war on unarmed women and children, he was there fighting . . . _something else_.  I had never seen anything like he was fighting – it was monster and his moves were  . . . like nothing I had ever seen.  After he had killed _The Thing_ , he turned to me, smiled and bowed and was gone – just gone.  I thought I was losing my . . . my sanity.”

Belle thought this interesting – that Jefferson had been able to see not only the Count but _The Thing_ he was fighting.  Ordinary people would not have been able to do either.  _So what was Jefferson?_  

Jefferson was still talking, “But then, later . . . “ he stopped a moment and collected himself.  “I was then at Beslan Massacre.  Two hundred . . . two hundred children were killed by other rebels,” he stopped talking, his eyes closing as if he was trying to shut out the memories.  “I saw him, your Count, again, fighting another monster.  Afterward, he came to me.  He talked to me.  He . . . comforted me.”

“You actually saw _The Things_ he was fighting?” Belle asked Jefferson, just to confirm.

“I did.  I didn’t realize that, well, that meant I was special.  The Count did.   We kept in contact.  His fighting skills impressed me and I’m Level 5 Systema trained combatant,” Jefferson explained with some pride.

This meant nothing to Belle, but obviously did to Jefferson. 

At her puzzled look, he explained with considerable pride, “Systema is the most scientific, most efficient and most powerful personal defense system ever to be devised.  When we sparred the first time, it was like I was ragdoll.  He took me down in a couple of minutes!”

_After hearing this, Belle felt good about her own meager skills.  She had been able to stand with him for several minutes before he took her out._

_But perhaps he had been holding back._

“I challenged him and . . . each time, he took me down.  Whether I was armed or not, he took me down.  Whether I surprised him or not, he took me down.  I was impressed by him.  Nobody, nobody takes down Jefferson.  He made me much, much better fighter.”

“That’s not your real name is it?” Belle asked.

He laughed.  “No, Lady Belle.  I’m Ukrainian.  My real name is long and hard to pronounce even for another Ukrainian.”

“I’ll take your word on it,” she told him smiling at the man.  He was quite charming and very handsome.  “So you have learned about the . .  eh . . . Unseen World then?”

He was silent a moment.  “I knew before – a little – from my grandmother.  She was vedma . . . uh . . .  a witch.  I never practice but she always tell me that I had The Talent.  After meeting your Count, I begin to learn more . . . about myself, what I could do.   Scared me . . . scared me big.  After Beslan, I decide, I decide I can’t be Spetsnaz no more, so I move here.  I buy bar.  I meet interesting people.”

“Like Ruby?” she asked him.

“Ah, like Ruby,” he concurred.  “Many special people come into my bar – but not too many witches.”  He locked eyes with her.

Belle dropped her eyes.  “So you know,” she said softly.

“I guess, by the things you do and say.  You remind me of my grandmother . . . in a good way.  And . . .  I could never imagine Count marrying ordinary woman.”

Belle shrugged, as much as in embarrassment as anything else.  “I don’t know – he is a rather difficult man to love.  He can be very dark.”

“Yes,” Jefferson agreed. 

“I guess we go back to the Church to wait for him?” she asked as they were finishing their meal.

“First, we get second beer,” he told her.

**Scrying**

It was after midnight when Rumple finally returned to their room.  He was carrying a box and a rolled up map.  Belle had dozed in the bed waiting for him and, although he moved quietly, she awakened soon after he came in their room.  “What do you have?” she asked, stirring.

“A map and a special container,” he explained and crawled into bed, still keeping himself above the covers while she slept underneath them.

“You got it from Regina?”

“She helped.  I’ll tell you about it in the morning, my dear.  I’ve used a lot of energies today and I want to rest,” and he collapsed face down onto the mattress and, judging from his even breathing, he fell asleep about the time his head hit the pillow. 

Rumple was certainly more forthcoming the next morning. 

He immediately pulled Jefferson (whom Father Hopper had put up into another bedroom adjacent to their own) into his and Belle’s bedroom and gotten one of the sisters to bring them breakfast.  Jefferson had grumbled about not being able to go out and get something decent to eat.  He grumbled more when he was presented with a bowl of oatmeal, some blueberries, and some yogurt along with burnt coffee. 

“Shut up.  You’ve eaten bugs and drank your own piss,” Rumple told him.

“But not here in town,” Jefferson corrected him.  “Well, not often,” he added.

“You’ll survive,” the older man waved off his concerns.

“But I won’t like it,” Jefferson had to have the last word.

Belle couldn’t see this conversation going anywhere _and, personally, she thought the meal was delicious._ “Tell me about the box you brought in,” she changed the topic.

Rumple stopped.  “After breakfast,” he insisted.  Belle accepted this.  She also wanted to ask Rum more about Jefferson _what was he?_ but sensed this probably wasn’t the best time for this either.

Once they had finished, Jefferson helped her clear the dishes onto a waiting cart, while Rumple brought out the plain wooden box.

They both waited expectantly. 

He took a moment and began with a question. 

“What do you know about Dybbuks?” he asked.

“They’re evil creatures who wish people harm.  They will try to possess a person.  It’s part of . . .  Jewish tradition,” Belle began.  “The most famous was one that was contained in a winebox.”

Rumple nodded.  _His Belle was amazingly well informed.  He could not help but be proud of her.  Abraham would have so adored her and would have treated her like a little sister . . . or a daughter._  

He closed his eyes . . .  remembering, “November, 1938.  Two sisters had decided to call forth a Dybbuk to set against their enemies but things didn’t go according to plan. That same night, soldiers and citizens together marched in the streets of Germany, damaging and setting on fire the homes of the _Juden_ , their businesses, schools, hospitals, cemeteries, synagogues.  It was the _Kristallnacht_ , the Night of Broken Glass.  Thousands were taken into custody and sent on to the death camps.”  He paused, “It was the beginning of the Holocaust.”

“A long time ago,” remarked Jefferson.

There was a pause before he spoke.  “I was there,” Rumple told them.  “I had sensed something _not right_ and I went there looking for an evil entity but what I found was worse, far, far worse.”

He stopped for a moment and Belle and Jefferson waited.

“This was the action of humans, of humans against humans, not some dark force.  It would be easier to explain, to understand, if we could blame a demon.  But there was no demon.  The Dybbuk that was called forth that night wasn’t the cause but, because of the hate that was permeating the air, it was strong, far stronger than an ordinary demon.  The sisters were able to get it confined to the winebox but it continued to cause havoc for everyone who came into contact with the box.  Even many years later it made people ill and caused great misfortune to come into the lives of those that possessed the winebox.”

He nodded.  “These demons can be contained inside a blessed container but even there they can still exert their influence, through dreams, through making people ill.  The best thing to do is have the container buried on sacred ground and the Dybbuk will weaken over time.”

Jefferson watched Rumple and shook his head.  “So is there something in this box at the moment?” he asked warily.

“No . . . not yet,” Rumple told them.  “I hope there soon will be.   I got this box working with Regina.  It’s been blessed by a local rabbi and will serve us quite well.  We need to find the _Weisse Reiter_ and hope we can get it into this.  Dr. Fah-el feels sure the Rider is the source of the plague.”

Belle digested this.  “So how do we find this Wise Guy?” she asked.  “Is it back where all the sickness was?”

Rumple shook his head.  “ _Weisse Reiter._   Unlikely.  It gets stronger after there have been many deaths from disease in an area.  It feeds on the energies from these deaths.  Andovia doesn’t have nearly the number of deaths to make it feel at home – it’s just getting started there.”

“So we need to find a place where many people have died from disease,” Jefferson surmised.

“Exactly,” Rumple agreed.  “There are several candidate places.  Molokai, where lepers were sent in the Hawaiian Islands.  Blackwell’s Island in New England where they sent smallpox victims. There are so many places.”

Rumple pulled out the pendant he’d gotten from Dr. Fah-el.  Belle and Jefferson could see it clearly now.  It was the traditional symbol of medicine, a winged caduceus with two intertwined snakes.  Rumple then pulled out the map he’d brought in with the box and suspended the caduceus from its chain, allowing it to swing in circles over the map.  The other two watched.  Nothing happened.

“ _Scheisse_!” Rumple muttered.  He tried again with no results.  “Usually this works fine for me,” he told them apologetically.

“Let me try,” Belle asked and took a turn holding up the pendant.

Nothing happened.

The two turned to Jefferson.

“Whaaaa?” he asked.  “I’ve never done anything like this.” 

Belle helped him, but Jefferson clearly had no aptitude for scrying as the pendant just hung from his finger without a twitch.

Rumple shook his head.  “I don’t understand.  This is usually basic magic, one that anyone of us should be able to do.” 

“Is there anyone else around who might be able to scry?” Jefferson asked.

The three sat silently, Rumple running the chain attached to the pendant through his fingers. 

“I know who can do this!” Belle exclaimed suddenly and jumped up.  She left the two men sitting astonished.  In a moment she returned, dragging a confused Father Hopper with her. 

“What?  Miss Belle . . . Miss . . .  Mrs. . . .  Countess, I . . . I don’t know anything about magic.  I have no idea.  What am I supposed to do?”

Belle took the pendant from Rumple and gave it to the young priest. 

“Here, hold it up on your finger above the map,” Belle gave him directions.  “Now relax and let it happen.”  She laid her hand on his shoulder.  “Allow the magic to take hold.”

“Bu . .  but . . . I don’t know magic.  I . . . what are you having me do?” Archie was both drawn to the magic and repelled by it.

Belle just smiled at him, “We’re looking for the location of the _Weisse Reiter_.  You can help. Just think about all those poor, sick people,” she directed him and he nervously nodded, swallowed, and returned his attention to the pendant.  “You’re doing fine,” she reassured him.

And slowly the pendant began to move in wide, slow circles.  Then the movements began to get smaller and smaller.  The priest held the chain up, clearly bewildered at what was happening.   

Then, much to Archie’s astonishment as everyone else’s, the pendant dropped on the map.  Everyone leaned over to see where it had dropped.

Rumple looked at the map, “Well, this makes sense.”  He then looked up, “Thank you, Archie, I didn’t know that you could do this sort of thing.”

“Neither did I,” said the priest.  “Do you . . . ah . . . need me for anything else?” he asked, obviously uncomfortable.

“No, not at the moment,” Belle told him.  “Thank you.  We couldn’t have done this without you.”  She gave him one of her brilliant smiles.  He gave her a tremulous one and left.    

“Some time you’ll have to tell me why you decided the priest could do this,” Rumple said to her quietly, his eyes narrowing as he regarded his innocent-looking wife.

He then turned his attention to the map. “This is a location where many people died from disease, many thousands of people over several centuries and it is somewhat close to this current outbreak.”  He looked up at the other two. “Proveglia.”

“Proveglia?” Belle repeated and shuddered.

“What is this Pro-vae-glee-ah place?” Jefferson asked.

Rumple glanced at Belle and he nodded.   She explained.  “It’s an island off Venice, where starting in the 1300’s, plague victims were sent – being sent there was a death sentence, thousands died there.  In the early 1900’s a mental hospital was built and people were treated with crude lobotomies – the doctor who performed many of these later threw himself off a tower claiming that he had been driven mad by evil ghosts.  It is considered by many to be one of the most haunted, evil places on earth.  I believe it is in the hands of a private owner at this time.”

Rumple nodded.  “That shouldn’t be a concern.  They are about six hours ahead of us. So if we leave now, we’ll arrive in the early afternoon.  Should give us plenty of time to get in and out before nightfall.  Jefferson, do you want to get your shovel and we can set off for Hell.”

“Hell?” Belle asked.

“Well . . .  except it’s in Italy,” Rumple replied.

**Proveglia**

Belle stood looking out at the glorious blue waters of the Mediterranean.  Behind her stood a number of crumbling white stone buildings covered with the encroaching forces of nature.  She could feel the Darkness but in the clear sunlight, it was easy to shrug off.  Rumple had decided the chapel was the most likely skulking place of the _Weisse Reiter_. 

“Come on, Wife,” he called to her.  “Let’s do this.”

She turned and followed him.  Jefferson walked by their sides, carrying his shovel.

“What’s the shovel for?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Everything.  This shovel can be used for chopping, slicing, hammering, paddling, sledding.  I can cook on it and eat off of it.  I can use it for fighting.  I can stab and cut with it.  If I throw it, it will go into target or cut right through it.  It can stop .22 caliber bullet.  A Spetsnaz is never without his shovel.”

“Amazing.  Can you dig holes with it?”

Jefferson smiled at her and started laughing.  “That too, darling, that too.”      

“What does Rumple expect you to do with it?” she asked Jefferson, who shrugged.

Rumple had heard them talking but had made no comment.   They followed him as he walked, obviously leading them somewhere. 

“How do you know where this place is that we’re going?” Jefferson asked him.

“I was here when they built the hospital.  I didn’t think it was a good idea to build a hospital for the mentally ill on a place with so many demented spirits but no one listened to me,” Rumple told them. 

They went clockwise around the hospital and cut across an open field area overgrown with blackberries to get to the little church.  Rumple casually pointed out different features of the place like a tour guide. 

“That’s the hospital.  That large building is the asylum where the patients lived. The old plague fields are just on the other side of the asylum.  The burning grounds are on the other side of the church.” 

“And these are blackberries that feed off human blood,” Jefferson grumbled brushing away some of the thorns that had gotten into his skin.

They got quiet as they entered the cool sanctuary. 

“Sooo,” Jefferson whispered.  “What do we do next?”

“You do nothing,” Rumple told him, “unless I tell you to.” 

They watched as he went forward and bowed.  “It’s time, Rider” he announced in a clear, calm voice.

“Nice manners.”

The voice was hollow and raspy. 

Rumple set the box on the floor and opened it.

A small slight figure, the height of a child, stepped forward.  It was emaciated, with dark circles under its silver colored eyes.  The figure looked ill and a rank odor emanated from it.   It wore clothes that had long ago turned to rags.  The clothing might have once been white but was now stained gray and brown with blood, sweat, and excrement. 

Belle’s heart went out to the creature.  “It looks like a child, a sick child,” she said.

The creature looked at her. “Such a nice lady,” it said and took a step forward in her direction. 

“We can help you,” Belle also stepped forward.  Rumple watched her but didn’t intervene.  “You’re sick.  We can get you help.”

The creature smirked at her.  “I am getting stronger every day.”

Rumple didn’t say anything to the creature.  He began to circle it as Jefferson began to walk in the other direction. 

The creature glanced at both of them and then continued, “They have already stopped overseas flights.  Did you hear they are about to shut down New York City?  London will go soon, then other big cities.  And the people will flee out of all these places, getting by the blockades, going out to the country, carrying the disease with them.  Soon, soon, everyone, everyone will be sick.  They will vomit themselves and shit themselves and soon the blood will pour into their lungs and they will choke when they try to cough it up.  The blood will come of their eyes and they will weaken and they will die.  The old, the young, they will all die.  There is no help for the sick.”

“Maybe no, maybe yes,” Rumple said and pulled out a vial from his pocket.  “I got this from someone special.”

The creature hissed at him and drew back.  “What do you have there?  Holy water?  Do you think that will stop me?”

“Not really.  I know Holy Water wouldn’t be enough to stop you.  But Holy Water that’s been infused with a variety of antibacterial, antiviral, and antifungal concoctions, along with a couple of Native American and New Age herbal infusions, just might.  I got this from Dr. Rafe Fah-el.  You remember him?  We thought a combination of faith and science would be just the right thing to take you down,” Rumple explained and took a step towards the creature.  “Or would you prefer to fight?”

_The day before, as they stood in the hospital tent back in Andovia, Belle had asked, “If this is a disease producing entity then why not use modern day techniques for fighting illnesses?”_

_Rumple had shaken his head, “What? Do you think we should pop it with a couple thousand units of vancomycin?”_

_“Wait,” Fah-el responded to Belle’s suggestion.  “She may have a point.  Mix old and new.  Our best defense against evil with our best defenses against illness.”_

_“A cocktail of a sort?” Rumple said, digesting this. “Holy water with antibiotics?”_

_“Exactly.  We can use some ZMapp and protein production inhibitors like siRNA.  They’re currently our best bet against these hemorrhagic fevers.”_

_“Could you help with that?”_

_The doctor smiled, “That I can help with_.”

_Rumple had watched Belle while she talked her idea over with the doctor, her lovely animated face, her brilliant eyes, her kind smile.  This woman, this incredible woman was his wife – his wife.  He was amazed and inordinately proud – and humbled.   While he would have gone after the thing with brute force, she had come up with a plan, one that could just work.  It was yet another moment that impressed upon him that he was so much stronger and so much smarter with her by his side._

Hearing the news, hearing about the enriched concoction they intended for it, the creature hesitated a moment.   Abruptly, it launched itself into the air and threw itself in Belle’s direction, landing on top of her, its foul breath in her face, its frail-looking yet enormously strong body clawing at her, drawing blood.  Jefferson reached them first, hitting the creature hard in the back of its head with his shovel.  The creature didn’t go down, but did turn to snarl at him and then, after an instant, launched itself toward Jefferson.  Lightning fast, Jefferson was able to side-step it and Rumple was on it, pulling out his own odd shaped sword and setting it at the creature’s throat.  Jefferson stood over him with the handle of the shovel in position to drive into the creature’s head. 

Rumple used his free hand to dislodge the top of the vial.

“Help hold its mouth open,” he gasped out and Jefferson placed a hand behind the Rider’s head and another over its nose, ignoring the bloody snot that oozed out of the creature’s nasal passages.  Rumple then popped the thing on its ear and the creature began screaming. Rumple immediately poured the vial down the throat of the _Weisse Reiter._

The screaming continued and the Rider began to draw up, clutching its skeletal hand over its abdomen.  “Such pain, such pain,” it complained, then gave a sad glance at the two men. “I’ll go, I’ll go,” it said weakly.  And Rumple shifted slightly, allowed the creature to sit up and slowly shift itself to its knees.

“Don’t stand,” Rumple told it.  “Crawl over to the box and put yourself inside.” 

“There will be others,” the creature wailed at him.  “They will come and kill you.  They will gut you and leave your souls bleeding.  They will sear your hearts over the fires of hell.  They will . . .” And then the creature stopped talking.  Jefferson had hit it very hard over the head with his shovel.

Rumple looked at the taller man, who shrugged.  “He was getting . . . what you say? . . . on my nerves,” Jefferson told Rumple and he bent to scoop up the small emaciated creature onto his shovel.  He carried it over to the open box and looked back at Rumple.  “This will fit in there?” he asked.  The size of the creature seemed quite out of proportion to the small box.

“It will,” Rumple assured him and Jefferson centered the entity and slipped it off his shovel.  It slid into the box, collapsing as if the very air had gone out of it.  Rumple closed the box and then poured the remaining contents of the vial over the top of the box, effectively sealing the box.  “That should hold it until I can get this to back to the Rabbi to bury it in sacred ground.”

“That was it?” Jefferson asked.

“Yes.  That was the First Rider, the White Rider -- Disease,” Rumple told him.  “With its energies dampened out, people should start recovering.   Hell, someone might just discover a cure or vaccine or both.  The plague will lose its strength and, although there will still be panic, things will start to get better.”  He turned and then it was that he saw Belle.  She was lying still on the ground, her form still and oddly positioned where she had collapsed while trying to fend the creature off.   

Rumple flew over to her.  “Belle, my Belle!” he cried out but she was unresponsive.  He glanced at Jefferson.  “I’ll come back for you,” and then he and Belle disappeared in a puff of smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Rumple makes a deal.  
> They begin their search for the Rot Reiter


	14. Exchanges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple makes a deal.  
> They begin their search for the Rot Reiter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some truly offensive language in this chapter (I debated the specific term I used, but felt it was appropriate in establishing a character’s mindset).

* * *

_With the help of a mysterious physician and using a plan suggested by Belle, the three intrepid fighters have located and defeated the Weisse Reiter, the First Rider, Disease. During the battle, the Rider attacked Belle and she has been left unconscious.  Rumple has seen her and taken her, leaving his friend on the haunted island to fend for himself._

Belle was lying in an awkward position on the ground when Rumple flew over to her and took her unresponsive body away, promising his friend that he would return.

**Hospital Quarters**

Belle was still, posed on one of the makeshift cot bed with curtains all around her.  There was a respirator hooked up and an IV going into her arm. 

“It breathed on her!  It got into her face and breathed on her!” Rumple was frantically telling Dr. Fah-el.  The doctor was examining Belle.  “You can save her!  I know you can save her!”

Dr. Fah-el looked at him, deep concern and caring reflecting in his silver eyes.  “I can . . . but . . . you know . . . there will a price to pay.”

“Anything.  I can’t go on without . . . I _need_ her by my side . . . helping me.  I’ve grown to realize how important she is to me, to . . . everyone.  Please,” he pleaded.

Dr. Fah-el nodded.  “What do you have that you would trade for her life?” he asked the ragged hunter softly.

“My own life.  I will continue  . . . I will continue as I have been,” he promised.  “But . . .”

Dr. Fah-el waited.

Rumple dropped his eyes and spoke slowly, “I know I have no leverage, nothing to bargain with, but please, please, could you make it so that when I am finally gone, The Burden will not be forced upon any offspring that I may be blessed with by Miss Belle . . . or even my grandson by my first wife?  That it would be their choice to accept or not?”

Dr. Fah-el considered.  “Interesting request.” The doctor turned away in thought for a moment.  “This could mean the end of the Sabbatarians”

“But,” Rumple tried to reason, “We know there are others who have the skills, the talents who could serve, who would serve if asked.  It doesn’t have to be my family that is burdened.”

The doctor nodded and gave him a small smile, “I think we can agree to this.  Your life but others will have a choice.”

Rumple nodded.

“Then the price is set and will be paid.”  And the doctor stepped away from Belle’s cot.

Rumple stood a moment by the bed, then knelt by the sickbed.  Someone brought in a rickety folding camp stool sometime late in the night and he shifted up onto this, leaning onto the bed, keeping his vigil there through to morning, watching her even, slow breathing.  He did not see the doctor observe him from the shadows.

_“Ah, Rumple,” he whispered sadly, “don’t you know, you and your kind have always had a choice.  But that which makes you a Sabbatarian, also makes you desire to serve.  Because of who you are, what you are, you, your family, will always choose to serve.  You will always serve the Higher Order.”_

Perhaps the crumpled Hunter heard him.

 It was early morning when Belle’s eyes began to flutter.

“Belle, my Belle,” he called to her. 

“Rumple?” she was confused.  She was surrounded by white – white sheets, white curtains, white light. “Where . . . where am I?” she asked.  “What happened?”

“The creature breathed on you and you fainted.  Dr. Fah-el says you’re going to be fine,” he reassured her. 

“I feel fine.  How long have I been here?”

“Just overnight.”

“Oh, so not so long.  What happened with the creature?”

“Jefferson pulled it off of you and between us we subdued it.  It agreed to go into the Dybbuk Box and I was able to seal the box.”

“Oh good.  Where’s Jefferson?”

Rumple stood a moment.  _Oh shit! He'd forgotten about his friend – left alone on the haunted island._ “He’s fine,” he told Belle.  “Are you hungry?  Can you eat anything?”

She struggled to sit up.  “Perhaps, a little something soft?” she suggested tentatively.

He smiled.  “I think there may be an egg that could be scrambled a thousand miles from here or so.  I could go and fetch you something.“

“I think I could get up and go with you,” she told him. 

Rumple was shaking his head.  “Are you sure?   You’ve been very ill and I don’t want you relapsing.”  As he was talking, the doctor returned to the room.

“I thought I had just fainted?” Now she was suspicious.  He was being awfully protective of her.   

“I see our patient is up and ready to get out of bed,” the doctor observed, checking Belle over.

“I am.  I feel almost embarrassed at fainting like I did,” she told him. 

“It happens. I’m glad it was nothing more serious than a minor curse,” the doctor remarked.  He turned to Rumple.  “Things are already starting to abate.  New cases are being reported, but the virulence seems to be relenting.  We’ve had five people just overnight who seem to be entering recovery.  There is word from CDC just this morning that the virus is responding to a specific mix of anti-biologic agents and they are very hopeful.”

“I’m glad,” Rumple said.  “Can I take her home?”

The doctor considered.  “I think so.  She probably needs to take it easy for a few days.  No heavy lifting, no strenuous exercise, lots of sleep, plenty of sunshine.”

“I have just the place,” Rumple promised the doctor and he waited while Belle was disconnected from all the wiring and support devices.  He picked her up and there was again that uncomfortable whirl of color and sound and sensation. 

Now transformed back into his imp persona, he set her on the bed in what had become ‘their’ room in the Dark Castle.  He snapped his fingers and a breakfast of soft boiled eggs and bread lightly buttered and toasted appeared.  There was a cup of tea alongside the food.  He waited until she had taken a couple of mouthfuls before speaking again.  “I have a few important things to do, but I will be back before nightfall.  Will you be all right?” he asked her, concern evident in his now amber eyes with their cat-like pupils. 

“I think so,” she promised him.  The sun was coming through the windows and she could feel a pleasant salt-tinged breeze coming into the room.  He squeezed her hand and disappeared.

**Camp**

After being left by Rumple carrying the sickened Belle, Jefferson had set up a makeshift camp, with a shelter and a fire.  He had found a source of fresh water coming from a working tap in one of the older buildings and had boiled it in the indentation of his shovel.  He hadn’t touched the Dybbuk Box, leaving it on the floor of the chapel where Rumple had set it.  He ate some of the blackberries and then waited.  If Rumple didn’t return tomorrow, he’d try his hand at fishing but there was no urgency this evening.

He wasn’t sure about going off to sleep here.  He thought it likely that the _Weisse Reiter_ wasn’t the only malevolent spirit walking these grounds.  He was sitting up trying not to doze off when he heard it.

At first, it was like someone breathing in his ear and then . . . and then it was someone walking nearby.  He waited.  He trusted in his fire, his shovel, and his own skills to protect himself, whether against the dead, the undead, the living or the never living. 

The noise stopped.  He waited.

When it started again, it was coming from the other side of his camp. 

_Well damn.  Something was out there and judging by its movements, not just a wild animal._

It stopped again and again he waited.  When it started again, it was coming from yet a different side of his camp.  He stealthily stood and peered into the darkness, holding his shovel at the ready. 

“What do you think it is?”

He whirled and standing behind him was a woman.  A stunning woman with long black hair and silver eyes.

“What are you?” he asked, involuntarily stepping back.

She shrugged and sat down near his fire.  “Me?  Oh, just a . . .  someone passing by,” she explained.

Not taking his eyes off of her, he sat down opposite her.

“Who are you then?” he persisted.  “What is your name?”

“Oh, Jefferson.  You know better than most. Names have power,” she smiled at him. 

“So then, what should I call you?”

“Whatever you like.”

“Why are you here?”

She sighed, “One of my children was . . . subdued tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied automatically.  _She didn’t seem particularly dangerous, but he recognized that her beauty was likely distracting him._

“Oh, don’t be.  He was one of my more unpleasant children.  I shan’t miss him but it’s still a mother’s duty to mourn when one of her children is taken away.”

Jefferson was frantically trying to recall the things his grandmother had tried to teach him.  There was something about the Mother of all Demons, the Mother of all Jinn.  _He wished he’d paid better attention.  He wished Belle was here – she’d probably know._  

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

“Just to help you stay awake,” she told him.  “I’ve taken a liking to you and wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”  She stretched out, her silken black dress hiking up revealing toned and supple legs.  “And there are so many things here that could happen to one lone man with only a fire and a shovel to protect him.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be all right,” he responded, not taking his eyes off his guest.

“Perhaps,” she said slowly.  She sighed. “I can make you as powerful as he is,” she then said.

“As who is?”

“Your friend, the half-demon Hunter.  You would like that, wouldn’t you?  Then you could get a woman as beautiful as his wife, perhaps, even . . . his wife.”

“He’s my friend.  I know his powers come with great responsibilities.  And I can find my own woman,” Jefferson rejected her offers.

The woman laughed, a low chuckle.  “Very good.  You’re a true friend and a good man.  Just so you know, his powers, they come from me.”

And as he watched, the woman slowly faded and he found himself looking at the ocean, the faint glow of morning just beginning to peak over the horizon. 

Jefferson shook himself.  _Well, that was the oddest visitation he’d ever had.  A beautiful woman instead of one of the usual monsters he would see lurking in the shadows.  One who’d made him an interesting offer._

He got himself some water and a couple more blackberries.  He did a perimeter check and sat back down. 

He might have dozed because suddenly the sun seemed brighter and he was hearing and feeling the _whoosh_ of an atypically noisy entrance perpetrated by his friend. 

“Is she all right?” Jefferson asked immediately.

“She is going to be fine.  I have her back at my castle resting.  I came back to get you and the Box,” Rumple told him. 

“Good.  I’m hungry. Can we get something to eat?  Where’s nearest IHOP?” Jefferson asked him.

Rumple thought. “Dubai?”

“Sounds good.  Let’s go,” Jefferson told him, putting out his fire and picking up his shovel.  “Get the box.  I’m not touching that thing.”

Jefferson did not tell his friend about his unusual visitation.

**The Dark Castle**

It had been four days.  Rumple had watched over Belle like a mother hen with a sick chick.

“The doctor said no heavy lifting.  I think I’m all right with a single book,” she gently scolded him. 

They were still at his castle.  He would bring her meals and allow her to take slow walks around the castle.

He brought her magazines.  He brought her smoothies.  He brought her chocolates.

He answered her questions about Jefferson. _What is he?_

“He’s a . . . Chaos Magician,” he told her.

“What is that?”

“Well, you’ve sensed his skills.  He’s wild and undisciplined, although plenty powerful.  His mind isn’t drawn to any one discipline, his abilities don’t fit neatly into one type of study, so he draws from many practices.  He can see the Unseen World and he is the best fighter I’ve ever come across that didn’t have Hunter bloodlines, as good as Quincy was,” Rumple told her.  “He reminds me a lot of Simon, except he’s not as hell-bent on self-destruction as Simon was.”

Belle then asked him something that was bothering her.  “How do I compare with other fighters?  I didn’t feel very capable fighting you at all, but . . . and . . . “ she shook her head.  “I don’t want to be a liability.”

Rumple stood quietly gazing out one of the windows onto the gray ocean. 

“You are the best fighter I’ve ever come up against excepting Simon,” he finally told her.

“But you defeated me every time and made it look easy.”

He shifted uncomfortably, “Belle, I should make a confession to you.”

“What?”

“I had to use magic to stay ahead of you,” he told her. 

“You cheated?” she asked him.

“Well, strictly speaking, there is no cheating in warfare.  You do what you must to get the job done . . . but I didn’t take you out using fighting skills alone.”

Belle wasn’t sure if she should feel anger or pleasure.  She did have one last question for her Hunter husband. 

“Can you teach me to combine magic with my fighting?”

He turned and smiled at her.  “We’ll start tomorrow.  Just a little workout.  You’ll still recovering.”

**Recovering at the Castle**

They had been there for more than two weeks, Belle learning more magic from her husband, when she finally asked him, “Isn’t there something else we’re supposed to be doing?”

He gave her a weak smile.  “Yes, but I wanted to be sure you’re fine.  Belle, you had a demon breathe into you.  That’s pretty serious stuff.”

“I’m fine.  In fact, I’m getting bored here.  I appreciate everything you’re trying to do for me but I’m better . . . all better,” she assured him.

He ran his hands through her hair, the lively curls always intriguing him.  _They seemed to have a life of their own and would often wrap of their own volition around his fingers._   “All right then.  Archie and Uri have both suggested we may need to go to a small town where there’s been a police officer killed.  They think there is something else going on bigger than just racial tension and disaffection with authorities.”

“Something is stirring things up?” she asked.

“I think so.  I think we’ll need Jefferson again.  This is likely to be pretty rough going.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’ve done some questioning and checking into things.  There seem to be two points of focus.  The mayor’s office and a place called Trolley’s,” he told her.  “It’s a biker bar.”

“Tough place?” she asked.

“Of course, it’s politics,” he told her.

“I’m mean the biker bar,” she clarified.

“Oh, well, yeah, I guess that place is dangerous too.” 

**Sooner**

Sooner was typical small town America, with train tracks that ran through the center of town and a row of buildings on one side.  Rumple’s original plan was to have Jefferson check out the bar while he checked out the mayor’s office.  They would bring back their information and have Belle go through everything.   Belle had reminded him that one of her talents was the ability to sense the talents of others.  She would be the best one of the three to identify anyone with unusual abilities.  Rumple reminded her that she had been ill and was still fragile; she needed to hang back and allow he and Jefferson to do the heavy work.

But Belle would have none of this and insisted she was going with Jefferson to check out Trolley’s while Rumple was out doing his own share of investigating. Rumple sighed and gave in, recognizing the futility of arguing with a determined Belle.  

Understanding that she was to go to the bar, Belle did some special preparation work.  Rumple turned around and saw her just before he was about to leave for the mayor’s office.  “I know I agreed for you to go to the bar – with Jefferson.  But I can’t let you leave the room looking like that,” he told her.

“What’s wrong with how I look?” she asked him.

She was dressed in a super-short black leather skirt and a black leather bikini top.  She’d somehow made her hair stand out all around her head and had considerable eye makeup on.  The look was completed with six-inch heels and red lipstick.

“You’re stupid hot.  Jefferson’s going to have to be kicking guys in the nuts to keep them off of you.”

“And why would you think I can’t handle myself?  I can kick guys in the nuts as well as you can,” she told him.

He groaned.  “Just don’t cause trouble, all right?”

Jefferson greeted them.  When he saw Belle he whistled and bowed.  “Madame, on behalf of my gender, I would like to thank you for existing.”

“Get your own girl, Jefferson,” Rumple told him.  “Listen, you two, I have my own research to do.  I want information, just your sixth sense about this place.”

“You’re going to let her go out like that?” Jefferson asked Rumple.

Rumple sighed.  “You convince her to sit in the motel room and watch movies.  She doesn’t listen to me.  She’s determined to go with you and help.”

“I think she’ll be more trouble than help,” Jefferson predicted but he took Belle’s hand and they went on to the bar, a sleazy dive off the local river.  

“Are you wearing underwear under that?” Jefferson asked her as they approached the dilapidated building.

“Just a thong,” she told him.  “A little black one.”

Jefferson stumbled and gave a short grunt.  “How is that man not fucking your brains out every night?  He hasn’t brought himself to touch you yet, has he?”

“How can you . . .?” Belle stopped. “How did you know?”

“You both -- too tense to be getting it regularly.  In fact, you’re the opposite of two people who are getting it regularly – totally wound totally tight.  I don’t understand.  What’s he waiting for?  I mean, you’re his legal wife.  And I know the man is capable of performing with women.”

“You know that for sure?” Belle had to ask him.

“Well, it’s not like we’ve ever had threesome, but . . . well, I know he likes women.”

“You’ll have to ask him why he hasn’t . . . pursued our physical relationship,” Belle told him.  _This man was likely her husband’s best friend, but she certainly didn’t feel comfortable discussing their sex life -- or non-sex life -- with the man.  She had no idea what was going on, at best knowing that he was afraid of hurting her._

They got to the bar and went on in.

Belle surveyed the room and allowed her _esper_ senses to reach out.  There certainly were the usual suspects gathered, trolls, ogres, swamp scum, and sundry other marginal life forms populated the bar.  And there was definitely something odd about the crowd – something off – but it was the same thing off with everyone, as if they all had been cut from the same cloth.  There was no obvious source of the ‘offness’ but it was pervasive.  She sat at the bar and soon enough had several drinks in front of her sent over by ever-hopeful patrons.  She was soon approached by a large, rather greasy, man. 

“New in town?” he asked her. 

Belle managed not to roll her eyes.  “I’m here with a friend,” she smiled at the newcomer.  “But he’s busy now so why don’t you have a seat.”

The big guy sat down next to her.  Belle wasn’t nearly as impressed with this man as he obviously was with himself.  “Your boyfriend?” the man asked her.

“Just a friend,” she clarified.

“You charging?” the man asked her and Belle realized he was offering her money for prostituting herself.

“No.  If I sleep with a guy it’s because I like him.”

“Oh well, I can be real likable,” the man told her.  “I’m Keith.”

“I’m Lacey,” she told him not giving him her real name.  “We’re really just passing through.  Heard you had some trouble here and we really didn’t want to spend much time here.”

“Oh we just had some nigger officer kilt and people are trying to make a big deal out of it.  Not really worth the fuss.”

“Oh,” she said _not sure what else she should say to this truly offensive remark._

“Listen, you got twenty minutes?” Keith asked her and put his hand on her arm.

Immediately there was a hand on his shoulder.

“Lacey, I think we’re finished here.  You ready to go?” It was Jefferson, his accent thicker in the pressure of the moment.

“Listen, you foreign guy.  Fuck off.  The lady and I were having a pleasant conversation and I don’t need you buttin’ in,” Keith told him.

“I’m responsible for her safety and well-being,” Jefferson explained patiently.

“I better go.  I . . . ” and Belle allowed some warmth to seep into her voice.  “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” She was talking to Keith.

“Hey lady, I can take care of myself,” Keith spoke up quickly and turned on Jefferson.  Belle caught the metallic reflection of the knife the reprobate had pulled.

Jefferson backed away.  “Listen, I don’t want fight . . .”

“I know you don’t, but that’s what you got,” Keith told him advancing on him.

“Well, why don’t we take it outside?” Jefferson suggested, backing towards the door. 

“I’d be fine with that.  The barkeep here is my friend.  I don’t see any need to bust up his place.” And Keith, still brandishing the knife, followed Jefferson out, along with most of the patrons of the bar who surrounded the two combatants in a rough circle.

Belle began whispering the name of her husband, “Rumple Stiltskin. Rumple Stiltskin. Rumple Stiltskin.” And in a moment she felt him standing behind her.

“Just had to come and make trouble, didn’t you,” he whispered into her ear.

“I just sat at the bar.  But I’m worried about Jefferson,” she told him.  “Can’t you just whisk him away?”

“I could but he’s not in trouble.  It’s a one-to-one fight with an ignorant redneck.  You might have been better off calling an ambulance.”

“But . . .” Belle sputtered.

“Watch him,” Rumple told her and Belle turned her attention back to their tall friend.

Jefferson was circling Keith who often made ineffectual slashes in the air with his knife.  Rumple whispered in Belle’s ear.  “First, he’ll disarm him,” he whispered and sure enough, Jefferson caught Keith’s wrist and came down on it with his elbow, cause Keith to reflexively open his hand and drop the knife.  In another swift movement, Jefferson picked up the knife and threw it above Keith’s head so that it embedded above the door of the bar out of ready reach. 

“Now he’ll get the other man angry,” Rumple told her.

“Sorry you dropped knife,” Jefferson told him. 

“Hey, I don’t need a knife to kick your skinny ass,” Keith shouted at him.

“No, you’re going to need two friends,” Jefferson replied.  He hadn’t broken a sweat, circling, watching not only Keith but the crowd around him. 

“Why you, asshole,” and Keith lunged at him.  Jefferson sidestepped him as easily as he had the _Weisse Reiter_ from the island, more easily since Keith moved more slowly and clumsily than the dark creature.

“He’ll get bored in a bit and probably he’ll break the guy’s arm,” Rumple shared.

Jefferson watched as Keith picked himself up and again came at him.  Jefferson caught him in mid-lunge and flung him down, grabbing his arm and twisting it.  Everyone in the circle heard the sharp crack and then heard Keith screaming. 

“I told you, you should have called an ambulance,” Rumple whispered in her ear.

Belle frowned at Rumple and rushed over to Jefferson.  “You all right?” she asked her friend who nodded.  Then she turned to Keith and looked him over.  Then she turned to the crowd, “Will one of you . . .  gentlemen . . . who’ve been filming this, use your cellphone to call an ambulance,” she ordered. 

“We need to go,” Rumple told his friends. 

“But we need to make sure that Keith is going to be all right,” Belle told him.

“He’s going to be all right,” Rumple reassured her.  “But I don’t want my foreign friend to end up spending the night in jail.”

Belle found herself back in the motel room. 

It was a moment before Rumple reappeared.  “Wash your face off,” he ordered her.  “I don’t like this look.”  He gestured at her face.  He then settled down in front of a laptop computer.

Belle considered arguing with him but sighed because she actually had to agree with the man. 

“Is Jefferson going to be in trouble?” she asked from the bathroom bemused at the sight of her technophobic husband being intimate with a laptop.  “I mean, some people were filming the fight.”

“Too bad their camera work failed,” she heard Rumple’s bland remark.

“What?” she came back into the motel room.  Her husband was sitting on the bed still focused on the computer screen but he held his hands in the air and waved his fingers. 

“There will be no films, no pictures.  Memories will be murky, vague, inconsistent from witness to witness.  There will be nothing for the police to go on.  I believe his assailant has a history and this will be just another fight he got himself into.”

Belle settled next to him on the bed.  She shared her impressions of the bar denizens and then asked him, “What did you find out?”

“I visited the mayor’s office and discovered nothing.  Then I came back here and, despite my distaste for computers, I had a talk with a very old friend – a Dr. Totenkopf.”

Belle waited.

“He was an early robotics theorist and, well, actually, I wasn’t talking with him, more like his consciousness.”

Belle sat up on the bed.  “What?”

“He was a genius far, far ahead of his time.  I first became aware of his work with nanotechnology as early as the 1930s.  As he got older he was able to transplant his consciousness into what we now call the Internet, specifically the Darknet.”

Belle got up to look over Rumple’s shoulder.

“Are you telling me that someone’s essence is part of the Internet?”

“Of course.  More like his soul is enmeshed.  He’s still accessible if you know how to ask to talk to him.  He remembers me, so  . . .”

“Is he part of what is going on here?” Belle asked.

“Not directly, but I think someone is using his nanotechnology to control people.  At the time just before Totenkopf moved on, he had been able to infect someone with his little tiny robots and had realized he could use the nanobots to control the person’s behavior.  He destroyed his notes because he saw the potential for harm, but once his consciousness meshed with The Net, his knowledge was there for others to find.  It seems like someone found it and has since ‘improved’ on Totenkopf’s early work.”

“You think that’s why people are acting so riled up?” Belle asked him.

“Yes.  This town has the same feel as places like Grozny, Somalia, Mogadishu, Borko Haram – war zones or places that might as well be war zones.  It’s not just humans misbehaving.  Someone controls them.”

“Do we know who it is?”

Rumple sat a moment.  “This time, I believe it is the _Rot Reiter_.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our threesome go off the grid in search of a way to bring down the Rot Reiter.


	15. Hacker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our threesome go off the grid in search of a way to bring down the Rot Reiter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. This story got a lot more political than I ever intended for it to be (I wrote my first draft about six months ago and things have just happened); any resemblance to anybody is wholly coincidental.

_Satisfied with Belle’s recovery, Rumple has taken her and Jefferson to a small town suffering from political and racial tensions.  While at a local dive-bar, Belle has not been able to discern any individual entity controlling the populace but does feel that everyone has something ‘off’ about them (as if the same thing is wrong with everyone). As Rumple had been afraid would happen, Belle attracts undue attention at the bar and Jefferson has had to come to her aid.  She and Rumple watch him easily win a fight with a local thug.  Rumple tells her that he is concerned that there is nanobot technology playing a part in the town’s problems._

“Someone is controlling these people,” Rumple told her.

“Do we know who it is?”

Rumple sat a moment.  “This time, I believe it is the _Rot Reiter_.”

“Another one of those Riders?” she asked quietly.

He nodded.  “I had been hoping it was just some petty demon operating from the bar but now that we’re here – it’s clear that it’s so much more powerful.”

“So how do we find it?” she asked him.

“We look at the morning papers,” he told her.

**Breakfast**

They had gotten together for breakfast at a Huddle House.  Rumple had bought them a variety of newspapers and they were each busy perusing them. 

“What are we looking for?” Jefferson asked, confused.

“Just something that stands out for not fitting in,” Rumple told him.

Jefferson glared at him but went back to turning pages in the local paper. 

They were each on their third cup of coffee when Belle pulled out something.  “This man, Marcus Bojak.”  She turned the paper around so that Rumple and Jefferson could both see it.

“His Honor the Mayor,” Rumple remarked.  Jefferson was on his phone. 

“This is his website,” Jefferson said and he pulled back from his phone.

Belle was looking it over and frowning.  “He preaches misogyny, xenophobia, separatism.” She was shaking her head.  “He panders to fears and anger.”  She handed the phone to Rumple.  “His motto is ‘You can sleep at night because I’m awake.’”

Looking over other websites, Rumple chimed in, “He proposed a “citizenship test” for voters of so-called dubious credentials that neither he nor twelve out of fifteen of the city council were able to pass.”

Jefferson had to smile at the irony but was also shaking his head.  As he perused the news sites, he added, “He also seems to have a history of using computer incursions against anybody that would stand up against him, leaking selected emails, phone conversations, stuff from their computers that should have been unavailable unless you had a password.   There’s only been one person who has spoken out against him and remain standing, a small-time attorney . . . Peter Holmswood.”

Belle asked, “Do you think the Mayor might be a minion of this _Rot_ _Reiter_.”

Rumple looked up at her.  “Look at his eyes,” he told her and directed her attention to the man’s unsettling silver gray eyes.   He gave her a thin smile.  “I think he might _be_ the _Rot Reiter_.  But he’s going to be very difficult to take down.  He seems to have taken the term ‘political machine’ and turned it in an actuality.  He seems to be fueled not just by people infected with his nanobots, but one fueled by people with a lot of money.”

“You can’t take on everyone in a face to face fight,” Jefferson counseled him.  “This is a different kind of fight.  I have a friend.  He was known to us in Moscow – what you might call . . . Black Hat.”

“Tell me more about him,” Rumple asked.

“He worked as computer hacker for government.  Now he works for businesses and private citizens protecting them from hackers.  He’s the best.”

“Let’s go talk with him,” Rumple suggested.

Jefferson wasn’t so sure.  “It’s not going to be so simple.  He values his privacy.” 

“I’m sure we can work out something,” Rumple said.  “Let’s get an address.”

“We will need to stop for Swedish Fish before we head out,” Jefferson insisted.

The three dropped by a Walmart and then checked out of the motel.  Soon enough, with Rumple’s magic, they were on their way, landing in a densely rural region.

**The House of Windows**

“Where are we?” Belle asked.

“I think this is somewhere in West Virginia . . . or Idaho.  Mike doesn’t like big cities.  He lives off-grid,” Jefferson told her.

Rumple stopped a moment and sniffed the air around them.  He turned back to his companions and gave them a slow smile.  “I know who this is.  We’d best be cautious.  He’s a rather nervous . . . uh . . . paranoid . . . individual. Not to mentioned, well-armed.”

“You’ve met him?” Jefferson asked.

“We’ve worked together a couple of times,” Rumple told him.  “This is a very prickly, volatile character.  We must be careful.”

“What I remember about him, I’d agree.  Come on,” and Jefferson began to lead them down a gravel road.  Belle could feel the wards all around her, discouraging her from going in any further, making her feel tired, even fearful of the forest that was all around them.  She shook the feelings off. 

The gravel road turned into a dirt road.

“We couldn’t have transmorphed us out closer to him?” Belle had to ask, a bit grumpy after they had been walking for more than an hour on the dusty road.

Both men turned to her and answered in unison, “No.” 

Rumple explained.  “We need to give him time to check us out. You’ve felt the first wall of wards.  They’ll only get stronger as we get closer and eventually we won’t be able to break through.  We have to depend upon him deciding to let us through.”

Belle sighed and continued walking up what had changed from a gravel road to a wide dirt pathway, just wide enough for a small car to get through if the driver didn’t mind scraping the sides of his vehicle with encroaching tree limbs.

They came to a small clearing and were stopped suddenly.  None of them could go any further. 

Rumple sighed, “I’ll need to do a thing here.   Step back and give me a little room.”

His companions did and they watched as Rumple began the tedious process of disarming himself and then dropped to his knees.  He maintained a position of prayer for some time, his head bowed, then spread his arms out from his body, holding the pose. Belle was about to suggest they call it quits when they saw the very air shimmer.  A myriad of tiny lights shot out of the woods and surrounded the man.  They seemed to be whirling around him, even passing in and out of his body.  Then the lights abruptly turned and Belle and Jefferson were surrounded by these same lights, now were whirling around them. 

“Wha . . .?” Jefferson began but quieted when Belle raised her hand.  The two stood absolutely still while the lights swirled around them.  The lights took her breath away.  Every naughty deed she had ever done came back into her mind, the worst being a time that she'd eaten her entire apple instead of offering to share it with one of her friends that she knew really liked apples.  She was eight.  She still felt shame when she thought of this.

And then the lights were gone.

Rumple raised his head and took a deep breath.  He struggled to his feet.  “We’re in.” he told them shortly.  

The three were quiet as they started walking but Jefferson soon spoke up, “Did anyone else have . . . uh . . . experience when those lights were buzzing about?”

“Yes,” Belle quickly agreed.

Rumple sighed, “It is the nature of what we do that our deepest selves are subject to examination from time to time.”  When the other two looked puzzled, he explained further, “We’re like open books to some of these creatures we deal with.  We must be comfortable with our own darkness.”

“And are you? Are you, droog, comfortable with your darkness?”  Jefferson pressed him.

“Probably the least comfortable of the three of us,” he admitted.  Belle gently reached out and touched his arm.  He gave her a thin smile and the three continued on.

They re-entered the forest and walked along in the afternoon sunlight.  They finally came out onto a field surrounding a hill.  On top of the hill was an odd structure, a building seemingly composed entirely of windows, different sizes and shapes.  It was set on a platform and a single rickety wooden staircase led up to it.  Next to this was a small barn-red shack complete with a variety of antennae and solar panels.  There were multiple other structures scattered all about.  Also walking around the grounds were several goats and multiple chickens. 

They stood in front of the house of windows.  “Mike,” Jefferson called out and said something in Russian.  He held out the bag of Swedish Fish. 

Belle saw something behind one of the windows move.  Jefferson spoke again and there was a long pause.  The door to the house swung open. 

“Come on,” Jefferson told his friends. 

Belle didn’t know what to expect but the interior of the house was more than she’d been prepared.  There were hydroponic tubes with green plants growing out of them all along the walls of the interior.  The tubes were connected to an aquarium that had small fish swimming around.  There were several computer monitors.  There was a minimalist kitchen with a tiny sink, a single burner and what she thought might be a small refrigerator.  There was a ladder that led to a loft.   A small, very dark-skinned man with thick glasses sat in front of one of the screens.  He had lank greasy dark hair and pale silver eyes.  

“What do you want Jefferson?” the little man asked him without looking around.

“I’d like to introduce my friends,” Jefferson told him.

“I know your friends.  Facial recognition software.  Count Rumple Von Stiltskin.  I already knew him.  And the lady is Belmont Quincy-Morris, recently married to the aforementioned Count.”  The man spoke without looking at them.

“Great, then you probably know why we’re here,” Rumple told him.

“I’m very busy,” the man waved him off.

“But not too busy for this.  Belle, this is Mykhail Yelchokov,” Jefferson made the introduction.

The little man glanced up at her and nodded.  “I go by Mike Yale now. What do you want?”

“I want you to hack into a man’s personal records, his bank accounts, his facebook page, his emails, anything, everything you can find and I’ll probably want you to set it all free for everyone to see,” Rumple explained.

“I don’t do that anymore,” the man replied without looking at him.

“You will want to for this man,” Jefferson told him.

“We’re all fighting the same battle, Mike,” Rumple said.  “This time around, we seem to be using different weapons, for sure.  Computers instead of swords.  We can’t do this without your help.”

“I never sleep.  I fight these battles all the time,” the man told him.  “Even against the _Rot Reiter_.”

Rumple pulled back.  So, Mike knew what they were up against but he still was reluctant be to help.  Rumple wasn’t sure what else to offer, what else he had to offer.  He felt Belle move beside him.

“What would you think about Jefferson and myself pledging our support to you and your friends,” she began.

Rumple sprang between them, “No, Belle, you don’t have to do this!”

“Let the lady talk, Hunter,” Mike spoke softly and his odd colored eyes had flickered over to Belle.  “Say more,” he said to Belle.

“It would not just for this mission but for whenever you need us,” she explained.

The man made eye contact with her.  “You understand what you are offering?” he asked her.

She nodded.  He looked at Jefferson who also nodded.

The man’s eyes glinted. Then he nodded, “We are interested in what you two can offer.  We’ll be getting a contract to you.”  He turned back to his computer screen.  “Now tell me more about this man, this manifestation of the _Rot Reiter_ ,” he finally said.

**Outside**

Rumple had not been happy with Belle and Jefferson’s offer to Mike and groused about it, lecturing, warning them both.  Jefferson had shrugged him off.  “We’re here working with him, for him, whatever anyway. Might as well make it official.”

Belle had added, “And if we don’t get his help, we can’t stop the Red Rider, so . . . we don’t really have another good choice.” 

Rumple had still not been pleased but he'd reluctantly accepted their arguments. 

It had been three long days since their arrival.  Belle and Rumple found themselves sleeping in an outside tent.  Mike had offered Belle his bed but Belle had demurred.  _She wasn’t quite sure that the sheets were clean._ Jefferson did agree to sleep on the floor in the ‘house’ with his old friend.

Belle thought that, overall, she and Rumple were better off in a tent on an air mattress.  Then, the first morning, she had ended up back to front of the man with his arms wrapped around her, his breath on her shoulder.  The air outside was fresh and clean and cool and inside the bed, it was warm and sheltering.  She snuggled back against him. 

He felt her move and immediately pulled away.  “ _Frøken,_ I’m sorry.  I think this mattress is faulty.  We must have rolled together towards the middle.”

She turned over so that she was face to face with him.  “Rumple, why . . . why won’t you let me in?  I’m willing to be wife to you.”

His face was wan and tortured.  “I will hurt you, Belle.  I can’t control the demon inside and if I don’t keep things clamped down, he will get out.  You remember what happened on our wedding night.”

“But you did get control.  You didn’t hurt me.  I trust you.”

He shook his head.  “You shouldn’t, Belle.  You are too good for me.  I am a monster.”

She dropped her eyes and let him go. “When you are ready, let me know,” she whispered to him.

She might have said more but outside the tent a rooster began to crow, announcing the arrival of the morning sun.

They got up and went on into the house of windows, which had turned out to have an astonishing number of amenities, some inside the house, some in the surrounding out-buildings.  Aside from a composting toilet inside the house, Belle had found a sauna and a shower outside.  The place had electricity and running water. 

“So he’s off the grid but still hooked up to the Internet,” Belle realized.

“He has his own satellite dish, geothermal powered,” Jefferson explained.  “Everything else is solar or wind-powered except his truck which he runs off methane from his chickens.

The man did have plenty of chickens and they had eggs at nearly every meal. 

Mike never seemed to move away from his computer screen, or change his clothes for that matter. On the third day, he announced, “This guy’s got some off-shore holdings.  He appears to be funneling money from some pretty questionable organizations and putting it into legitimate holdings – and taking legitimate money and funneling into some questionable activities.  Tapping him out financially probably won’t take him down, as he has stuff coming into him all the time.  He’d hurt for a while but would be able to rebuild,” he told Rumple.

“Then hitting his pocketbook won’t do it.  We need to discredit him,” Rumple decided.

“Well, let me follow this money.  See where it comes from and where it leads to.”

“Sounds good.”

Mike nodded.  “All right then.  I’m going to check his browser history on his computer.”

“You can do that?” Belle asked.  Rumple had to wonder if the little man was as distracted as he was by Belle’s gentle scent.

“Sure, his network security is so-so.  I’m also into his phone.  He started playing this game where you go around and collect stuff.  I can get into anybody’s phone when they have played that game.  The game gives the company access and I have . . . uh . . . acquired access to the company.  Now, this is interesting. . . “ and he pulled back from the screen.

“Euuh,” Belle said.  “Is that what I think it is?”

“Depends what you think it is,” Mike told her.  “Now there’s more like this.”  He shook his head.  He sat back. “This is FBI stuff.”

Belle had sat back.  “Child pornography.  He appears to have movies of  . . .” she didn’t finish.

“Pretty smarmy stuff,” Jefferson agreed. 

“This goes back several years – this wasn’t a one-time wandering into a tainted site.  Give me an hour.  I want to see where the money’s going,” Mike told them.   

Belle and Rumple agreed and left Mike to do his work.  They walked around his property.  “He’s an odd person,” Belle remarked.  “I like him, but he’s a bit different.”

“He’s a lot different,” Rumple told her.   “He’s asked me to go do something,” he said abruptly.  “There’s someone that I have to  . . . ‘encourage.’”

Belle thought that by now she would be used to the man’s abrupt comings and goings.  She was left alone on the mountain with Jefferson and the odd Mr. Yale.  She looked around his grounds.  Very self-sufficient.  It looked like he’d built the shack himself, built it to be entirely self-sufficient.  He had goats, chickens and rabbits that he’d domesticated and a large raised bed vegetable garden and some solar-powered greenhouses (along with the hydroponics she’d seen in the house). She’d also found beehives.  Energy came from the sun, the wind and, from what Jefferson had said, from the earth itself, along with the methane from the chickens.  He also had a wood-burning stove and a little hydroelectric generator driven by a stream that went through his property.  She was petting some of his rabbits when Jefferson called her to come back inside.

Mike addressed her, “I’ve got him.  A keystroke will send this information to both the FBI and Homeland Security.  Apparently, the man has been funneling some of his ill-gotten wealth into local terrorist watch groups and some not so local terrorist watch groups and they’ve been sending him funding.  This action will send them scurrying and I would think that Mr. Bojak will be in custody, if not today, then tomorrow.”

Jefferson nodded.  “As slick as he is, he’s likely to slip away.”

Mike looked up at him through his thick glasses and blinked at him.  “But only for a thousand years,” he said cryptically.

“Where’s Rumple?” Jefferson asked.  “He’d want to be here to see this.”

“I sent him off on an errand,” Mike told them.

Belle considered, “Go ahead, Mike.  He’d want you to move on this as soon as it was air-tight.”  She watched as the little man made a couple of keystrokes.  He then, for the first time that Belle had noticed, pushed away from the computer screen.

“Shall we celebrate?  I have some nice goblin fire water.”

She glanced at Jefferson and they both nodded in agreement.  Mike poured them both a short glass of the clear liquid.  Belle took a sip – it was liquid fire. 

“Good lord!” She watched in amazement as both Jefferson and Mike poured their drinks down their throats. 

“Like mother’s milk,” Jefferson told her, laughing at her response. The three sat down outside on Mike’s ‘patio’ with their glasses and the fire-water. 

“Tell me, friend Jefferson, you like this, what you are doing with the Count?” Mike had then asked Jefferson.

“I do.  I feel I’m making a real difference.”

Mike nodded.  “It is a good feeling.  And you, Miss Belle?”

“Huh?” She looked up from her glass.  “I like it,” she managed to respond.

“That’s good,” Mike told them.  “The Count has been alone for too long, fighting by himself.  It’s good for him to have others with him, others he can count on.”

Belle was beginning to feel odd.  “What is this stuff?” she asked holding up her glass.

“It’s a special brew, not exactly alcohol.   Are you feeling its effects?” Mike asked her.

“I am,” she admitted.  “I’ve never gotten drunk before, but I feel dizzy and silly and . . .  warm and pleasant.”

“It can have that effect,” Mike agreed.

“Where do you get this?” she asked him.  “Do you make it?”

He smiled at her, “No my dear.  This actually comes from one of the lesser demons, Algol.  It’s a little concoction he created.”

“Did you confiscate this or do you have business dealings with him?” she asked.

“I have business dealings with him from time to time.  War or no war, markets are stronger than governments,” Mike answered.  

Belle carefully sipped her one drink and, for the first time in her life, found that she was a bit loopy.

“Wow.  Now, did you two meet in Russia?” Belle asked the two men.

“We did.  We needed computer nerd to help out on project and that’s when I met Mike” Jefferson told her.  “When I left Spetznaz and came here, Mike came too.  I bought bar. Mike went to work for Google.”

“Impressive,” Belle told him.

“What?  I was sweeping the floors,” Mike told her.

She wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth – the man seemed to have an odd sense of humor.  Rumple then appeared before them.  She noticed that Mike didn’t bat an eye.  Rumple looked first to their computer guru and nodded.  He then looked at Belle and smiled.

Mike fetched a cup (he was out of glasses), and Jefferson poured his friend a drink.  Rumple took it down in one swill, then gasped.

“My end is done,” Mike told him.  “Now tell us, how did your ‘errand’ go?” 

“Good,” Rumple was still shuddering in response to the potent brew. He looked back at Belle and Jefferson, then explained, “I was out encouraging a young man to speak up.”

“That took you nearly the entire day?” Mike asked.

“Well, I had to win his trust.  I dropped by his little office.  Told him I was a friend of the family.  The man’s a small-time attorney and doesn’t have much business, so getting in to see him was easy.  He was pretty despondent about how things were going, personally and professionally.  I took him out and we had coffee.  I got him talking about what he wanted to do and I encouraged him to go for it, told him that the Holmwoods have never been ones to hold back, always ready to do what needs to be done.  He’ll step up.  He’s perfect for the job.” 

When the others looked at him puzzled, he added, “When you get rid of a leader, even if he is a bad leader, there is a vacuum.  Someone has to step in.  I just encouraged a young man to step forward, step out.  When things start to fall apart around Bojak, this young man will be poised to step up.  He’ll provide the voice of reason.  He has the Bardic gift, a persuasive voice. And now,” Rumple smiled and waved his fingers, “now, he thinks he’s been visited by his guardian angel who’s given him a mission.”

Mike nodded, “Very good.  Now, as for Dr. Totenkopf’s legacy . . . ?”

Rumple winced and sighed, “The next to the last thing I’m going to do is set up a beacon, to call all the nanobots in.  Some people will have a hell of a headache but they’ll be back in control of their own thoughts.”

“Totenkopf?” Jefferson asked him.

“Do you know about Totenkopf?” Rumple asked him. When Jefferson shook his head, Rumple explained, “An early robotics engineer – way ahead of his time.  He developed some teeny-tiny robots that could go inside of people’s bodies and do repair work. But . . . .”

“Let me guess -- the nanobots.  Someone began using the bots to hurt people?  Control people?” Jefferson followed up.

“You got it,” Rumple agreed.  “They’ve been around a long time, but it’s very hush-hush.  People likely would not take kindly to knowing that they’ve been robotically enhanced without their consent.”

“How do you know about this Totenkopf?” Jefferson asked, looking back and forth between Rumple and Mike. 

“Anyone who has spent the amount of time that I have online, knows Totenkopf,” Mike told him. “I used to hear about him as a rumor and then, one afternoon, I went looking for him.”

“And you found him?” Belle asked. She was feeling very dizzy.

“Not exactly, but I kept at it and one day I had a message on my computer from him.  When I hear nanobots, I think Totenkopf, of course,” Mike explained.  “Do you want to set up the beacon here.  I can take care of them.”

Rumple agreed.  “That could work.”

Belle had never seen Rumple work and out-and-out magical spell.  He set up a slender pole of wood into the ground.  “This is rowan, mountain ash.  It will be my beacon,” he told her.  He drew a circle around himself and the wooden pole, consecrating himself and his beacon.  He drew his hands up along the pole, a warm glow coming from his hands and growing, glowing out from himself.  He was whispering, susurrating words she couldn’t make out.  She could feel energy moving toward him, her own energies, energies from the air, the earth.  The glow intensified and she soon lost track of the man.  The light then seemed to funnel into the wooden pole and shoot up, arcing across the sky in long sprays of sheet magic.  It took only a moment when small lights began to ride atop the sprays and be pulled back into the pole. 

He stepped away from his handiwork.  “That should do it,” he told her.

“How . . . how did . . . ?  How did you know what to do?” she asked him amazed.

He gave her a quick smile, “Would it surprise you to know that I read it in a book?”

“Yes . . . I mean . . . ,” she closed her eyes to gather her thoughts,  “It shouldn’t, but you seemed so averse to reading up on things,” she told him.

“I didn’t know you could read,” Jefferson told him.  He too had watched the mage as he’d concocted the Beacon Spell. 

“My aunts and then Abraham made me sit and learn spells.  They would both lecture me that my intuitive grasp of magic was all well and good, but that I didn’t have to invent the wheel with every spell I produced.  That was one I hadn’t used before.  It originally was a tonal spell used to call the rats in at Hamlin.  I just had to modify it a little.  Now, you two, get ready to go. I’m having one last talk with Mike.”

While Belle and Jefferson gathered their few possessions, Rumple talked with their host at length.

“We could not have done this without you, you know that?” Rumple told him.  “When I realized who you were, I wasn’t sure how you were going to be helpful.  I’m used to you coming in with a blazing sword.”

“As you’d said.  War looks different nowadays.”

“Two down, two to go,” Rumple told him and gave the man a short bow.

As Rumple turned to go, Mike spoke one last time, “Rumple, please, we do not ask that you fight alone.  Miss French and Mr. Jefferson have joined you all ready.  Rumple, there are two others who will yet join with you.”

“Really?  That would be welcome.”  He was quiet for a moment.  “I miss Simon and Abraham.  I leaned on them both so much, Abraham for his wisdom and Simon for his strength.  Even Quincy with his faith and bravery was such a good friend.”

“Victims of war, all of them, but brave, faithful souls.  They have been well rewarded, I promise you,” Mike shared.

Rumple nodded and joined with Jefferson and Belle.   

“Ready?” he asked the other two who had been waiting quietly.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Jefferson both have unsettling visitations.  
> Belle is betrayed by someone she trusts.


	16. Visitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Jefferson both have unsettling visitations.   
> Belle is betrayed by someone she trusts.

_Belle, Rumple, and Jefferson have sought out the assistance of a Black Hat, a computer hacker, going to his off-grid residence.  With Belle and Jefferson promising that they will continue to support Rumple, the hacker agreed to work with them and he has discovered compromising information on the Mayor, aka the Rot Reiter, who has since been taken in by authorities.  Rumple encouraged a young man to fill the void left by the Mayor and lastly set up a system to call in the pernicious nanobots before they left the enigmatic hacker._

**In Town**

The three returned to Asheville and watched the big screen television in Jefferson’s bar. Belle had found a bottle of the Goblin Firewater in the pocketbook she’d been carrying, a parting gift from Mike Yale, and had given it over to Ruby to hold for her.  Ruby had poured her a drink from the bottle and Belle was now feeling light-headed and uninhibited.

_After the astounding news regarding Mayor Bajok and his arrest, the town of Sooner has been in shock.  A young attorney, Peter Holmwood, has been appointed by the governor to serve as Bajok’s interim replacement.  Immediately he has been able to get a coalition of churches, business leaders, community action organizations and concerned citizens together.  He has said it is too early to say but it seems likely that after weeks of violence and discontent, things may be starting to return to normal._

_The newsfeed switched to an earnest young man addressing a crowd of reporters and community members, “We have a lot of work ahead of us.  Our first job is not to act, but to listen.  We must hear what each of us is saying. As my momma always told me, we have two ears and one mouth; we should be doing twice as much listening as talking.”_

_The news continued._

_In the Midwest, many farmers and cattle ranchers are being threatened with the loss of their homes, their property, their livelihood.  The Department of Agriculture is no closer to finding a solution and disaster areas have been declared.   Although initial reports had defrayed the concerns that the fungus would spread to other crops there is now evidence that it is doing just that.  It is suspected that tomatoes, beans, and root vegetable may all be susceptible._   

Belle looked up at the television screen.  She turned to Rumple. “Famine?” she asked.

He nodded.  “’Fraid so,” he answered. 

“Do we leave now or wait until the morning?” she asked.

“We’re tired.  We’ll go in the morning.”

“Okay,” Belle told him.  Her husband smiled at her and suggested they return to the Church for the night.  Belle held onto his arm as they walked together.

“Miss Belle,” he began. “You’re staggering, slurring your speech, and acting giddy.  Are you drunk?”

“I don’t get drunk,” she replied.

“I saw you sipping the Firewater.  Are you certain it’s not affecting you?” he pressed her.

“I don’t think so,” she told him.  She was holding onto his arm and allowed her hand to drift up to his neck.  “You are a very attractive man, do you know that?” she asked.

“Nice of you to say so,” he murmured.

“I liked how you kissed me after we had defeated the Shifty Sandal.”

For once he didn’t correct her.  He was standing very still, watching her. 

“Kiss me like that again,” she asked him turning her face up to his, her eyes bright, her lips parted.

Resistance was futile.  He bent over to touch his lips to hers.  One of her hands locked behind his head and pulled him closer.  The kiss deepened and she easily accepted his tongue as it slipped in to savor her lips.  She pressed herself against him, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, one of her legs between his and she was delighted to hear him groan. 

He broke the kiss off.  “You _are_ drunk,” he told her. 

“Nooo,” she whimpered.

“We’re going back to our room,” he insisted and pulled away from her, the cool night air hitting her as she lost the warmth his body had been providing.

“Nooo,” she said again, but, once he had taken her hand, she had little choice but to dutifully follow him.

They returned to the Church and collapsed in the large comfy bed, Belle dizzy and dopey and, soon enough, she was dozing.  Rumple sighed looking down at his little bride. 

He knew well that she was offering him a soft, warm welcome.  If she hadn’t passed out, things might have gone differently.  

_As it was, she was an on-going test to his resolve._

_He knew he was losing this battle._

**The Lady**

Jefferson climbed back to his own little apartment.  This had been an interesting couple of days since he had joined back up with the Gray Hunter.

It had been fun.

He hadn’t realized that he had missed the fight so much.  He had gotten soft managing the bar.  But watching his mentor and Lady Belle together had reminded him of how lonely he was.  Not that he couldn’t find a woman to share some companionship with, were he so inclined, but he didn’t want just any woman.  He wanted a special woman, one that he could fall in love with, who could love him.

He shook his head, marveling at himself and his new attitude on life.  Perhaps, he was finally growing up.

When he opened the door to his apartment he turned on the light and walked in.  He caught a very faint scent, a light perfume.  Not one left over from any previous visitor.  He went into the living room. 

“Hello, Jefferson.  I’d heard you were back in town.”

Somehow he was not surprised to find the Lady of the Island to be sitting on his leather couch. 

“Ma’am,” he greeted her.  “Fix you a drink?”

“What a delightful host you are.  Yes, please.  Whatever you’re having,” she told him.

“I hope,” he began as he poured them both tall glasses of straight vodka, “you are here to seduce me.”

“Of course,” she told him.  “Do you mind?”

He looked her over.  She was a beautiful woman.  “You must promise me that after we mate, you won’t tear my arms and legs off like spider.”

“That would such a waste,” she smiled at him, taking a glass.  “I promise I have no ill-will toward you and no intentions to offer you harm.  I just want to enjoy your company for a while.”

He smiled back at her.  “Here’s to pleasant company.” 

And they toasted.

**The Bedroom**

They were entwined together, one of his hands cupping her tender breast and the other resting between her thighs.  When Belle woke, at first she lay still, not wanting to break the intimate connection.  She could feel the man’s engorged cock pressing into her back.  She sighed.  Trying not to wake him up, she shifted so that she was on her back and could lean into him.  She felt soft kisses along her neck and heard him murmur.

“You are so beautiful.”

“That’s nice,” she chanced a reply. And she peeked over at him.  His eyes were open but they were not his usual whiskey brown.  Instead, she found herself looking into black pools. 

“You’re The Other,” she said doing her best not to pull back.

“There is no Other.  He just prefers to think of me as something apart from himself.   It was a tactic he learned to survive but it has left him . . . broken.  Until he acknowledges that I’m part of him, he’ll struggle.”

“He thinks of you as his demon half.”

“Yes,” the creature confirmed.  “He thinks I will hurt you and, well, I must apologize for losing control with you earlier.  You are the lightest confection I’ve ever had put before me and I can tell you that in my life, your humble hunter here has had many women offered to him, usually as payment for services rendered.”

Belle shivered.  “He’s turned them down?”

The creature nodded.  “He has . . . I have . . . we have.  We have a past with violent . . .  nonconsensual . . . sex and I would truly not want such a thing to be between us."  He began outlining her lips.   "There is a type of magic to be had during sex.  It can be very powerful . . . and it can be very beautiful.  But it is best if it is between two people who have real love for each other.” 

He was alluring with a dark charm and, at least for the moment, he was of an affable nature.  Belle sat up.

“He does want you, Lady Belle.  You’re strong and smart and beautiful. He’s in love with you.”

“But until he accepts you as part of him instead of some demonic possession . . .?”

“He will be torn in two.  Perhaps we can both help him.”

“How?”

“Let him know that anger is acceptable.  It can be used as the energy to change things.  Let him know that lust is acceptable.  It is part of the nature of procreation, the process of creating new life.  Let him know his dark drives, his darkest feelings, all can be channeled and he is not a slave to them.”

“I understand, I think,” she told the creature.  He stretched and smiled at her.  The man was temptation itself and she felt herself drawn to him. 

“Please, Belle.  I must know.  Do you care at all about him, about me?” the creature pressed her.  He traced down her arm with the back of his hand, his warm hand.

“I do.  I’ve never been in love before, but I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m feeling.  I know I care . . . I do care.  Very much,” she told him.

“Is it all right if I touch you?” he asked.

“You are my husband.  Of course, you can touch me,” she answered.

He shook his head, “Do you _want_ me to touch you?”

She hesitated just a moment and then nodded her head.

The creature smiled and sat up.  He leaned in and began to kiss her.  She heard him murmur, “I’m so glad.  I’m in love with you too.”

Belle froze but then he shifted and slipped back down onto the pillows.  Rumple had fallen back into slumber.  She sat by him a moment but then took the opportunity to grab a quick shower.  Now, in a pensive mood, she went out to the refractory for some breakfast and a young novice approached her to hand her a note.

_“Please, come and see me as soon as you can.  It is imperative that you tell no one.”_

The note was not signed but she recognized the handwriting. 

Belle debated. 

This was odd.  Just to leave without telling Rumple where she was going.  They had begun to build trust in their relationship and this type of thing, innocuous though it seemed, might erode that trust if it ever came to light.  

After much consideration, Belle opted to leave Rumple a note and walked the several blocks back to her old convent.

It was red-headed Ariel at the front office.  “Belle!” she cried when she saw her and came around to greet her.  “How are you?  We all heard what happened – that the Gray Hunter bargained for you.  We were all concerned . . . we were afraid he would hurt you,” Ariel’s genuine concern shown in her sea-green eyes.

“I’m fine.  He treats me like a princess and takes very good care of me,” Belle assured her sister-in-practice.  Is Mother Rheul in?”

Ariel nodded.  “Yes.  I’ll let her know you want to see her.”

It was only a moment when Rheul came out to see her.  “Belle, Belle, my child.  How are you?  You look tired.”

“I’m doing well.  I just came by to see how everyone else was doing.”

Rheul took Belle back into her office.  The two women sat down and Rheul spoke in hushed tones.  “Things are not going well here.  People we trusted, people we thought were on our side . . . it turns out that they are not.”

Belle waited for her former teacher to continue.

“Cora, well, she was always dicey, of course, but she has clearly shifted her interests to The Other Side.  She . . . we think she is consorting with the Vampire Captain.  She seems to be trying to play both sides of the conflict.  As for her daughter . . .”

“Which one?” Belle asked.

“The older girl, whatever is her name?  Selena . . .  Zerena . . . ?”

“Zelena,” Belle remembered. 

“She has definitely gone completely over and is now part of a coven of Dark Witches.  Very dangerous.  And very unpredictable.  No telling where she will show up,” Rheul warned her.  Then she sat back.  “But please.  How are you getting along?  We were so worried when the Gray Hunter took you even though Father Hopper kept reassuring us that he would not do harm to you.”

“He has been kind,” Belle told her.  _Something seemed off.  Mother Rheul was hiding something._

“I understand you’ve been on some adventures, some battles with him all ready,” Rheul had broken eye contact, then got up to fix them some tea.

“A couple.  There is another disturbance right now and we will soon be off.”

“And . . . and where will you be going?” Rheul asked her.  Her voice was light and seemingly only politely interested, but her hand shook as she poured the tea, the spout tapping at the rim of the cup.

_Something was definitely not right.  Belle could feel it, like a spider crawling up her back._ “I don’t know.  He hasn’t told me.”

Rheul glanced at her.  “How soon will you know?”

Belle stood, “I don’t know.  I need to be going back to him.”

“Oh no, darling,” the older woman shook her head.  “Stay, at least stay for a spot of tea.  I can’t imagine that barbarian serves good tea.”

“Actually he serves excellent tea,” Belle replied.

“I don’t want you to go just yet,” Rheul’s voice had turned steely.

“If you just want to know where we’re going next, I can arrange to send word, once I know.”

“There’s something else.”

Belle started to move towards the door but found herself caught, stilled, frozen in place.  “What are you doing?” she asked her former mentor.

“I don’t want to do this,” Rheul apologized.  “But I want the Order to survive and I don’t know that we are strong enough.  Certainly, you and your misbegotten lover won’t be enough to stand against the forces of darkness.”

“What are you saying?” Belle asked, struggling to fathom her way through the magic surrounding her.

“If I give you to him, the _Schwarz Hand_ , she will spare us.  She’s promised me,” Rheul was trying to explain.

“You can’t trust these creatures.  Mother Rheul, you were the one to teach me that.  The creatures of darkness lie for their own purposes, for their own gain, just for fun  -- but they always lie.”

“I’ve used a powerful magical promise.  It cannot be broken,” Rheul was trying to re-assure her. 

“All curses can be broken.  All spells can be undone.  All magic can be unwound.  You taught me that.”  Belle was feeling frightened now.  _What had Mother Rheul promised this creature?  What was going to happen to her?_

“Oh, not this one, not by any mortal,” Rheul assured her.

“Rumple knows where I am,” she told Rheul.  “If I don’t return to him, he’ll come looking for me.”  _She tried thinking his name but quickly realized the building was shielded too well for any call for rescue to get out._

“You weren’t supposed to tell anyone where you were going!” Rheul protested.

“What can I say?  We tell each other things,” Belle replied with no apology.

“Well, we’ll just tell him that you came here and asked for sanctuary, that you couldn’t abide being with him.  We’ll tell him that you've left him and don’t want to be followed.”

“He won’t believe you,” Belle told her.  _He could.  He very well could.  Their feelings were still so tremulous that he wasn’t sure of her affections – she hadn’t been able to admit that she loved the man, not to him, his alter-ego, not even to herself.  If someone told him she had run away, he might believe it._ Belle did her best to bluff.  “He’ll take this place apart.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Rheul told her.

At that moment there was a scuffle in the outer office.  It wasn’t loud or long.  Before either woman could react, the door to Rheul’s office blew off.

“Belle?” Her hunter stood there, dressed in his usual brown leather vest and black leather pants.  He had drawn his odd kris-knife. 

“Yes, darling?” she turned to him but was still unable to move towards him.  His sharp eyes, _his vision_ , instantly saw her plight.  He strode on into the room and confronted Rheul.

“Let her go,” he ordered the White Witch Priestess.

“She came here asking for sanctuary,” Rheul tried desperately to stick with her lie.

“Then why are you holding her?” he asked.   He raised his knife.  “I’m prepared to do whatever it takes.  Release her.”

“Please, please, you don’t understand.  You and she . . . you two will never be enough.  Even if you defeat the _Schwartz Hand_ , you can never defeat the Pale Rider.  There is no hope.  At best, we can make a tolerable deal with the Demons.”

“You cannot make deals with the Devil, madam.  He will win every time.” And Rumple pulled back preparing to strike the Priestess down.  Panicked, Rheul released Belle.  Rumple backed away from the White Witch.  “Your time here is ended, Rheul.  Belle will report your actions to the High Council and you will be forced to resign.  Likely you may be imprisoned.  If I were you, I’d disappear to some place remote.”

“But she’ll find me there!” the older woman wailed, distraught.  “I was not able to keep my bargain with her.” 

Rumple was merciless.  “That’s what happens when you make deals with the devil, my dear.  If I were you, I’d be throwing myself on the mercy of the High Council and hoping that they can protect you.”  Then he turned and held out his hand to Belle.  “My Lady Wife,” he addressed her formally.

“Yes, Husband.”  And she took his hand as they left the convent.

As they walked back to the Church, he leaned over to her, “I’m really glad you left me that note.  I wouldn’t have had any idea where to look for you.  And your damn convent building is too well warded for casual _sight_ to get through. I was half-afraid that you had left me.”

“I promised you forever, dearie,” she told him and leaned over, going up on her tiptoes, to kiss his cheek. 

“When you didn’t return, I began to get worried.  I just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.  I was afraid that I would barge in and the two of you would just be having tea and I’d look ridiculous,” he confessed. 

“I’m so glad you were willing to look ridiculous for me,” she told him tenderly.  She thought a moment, “We seem to be linked in some way, do you think?  I began having uncomfortable feelings almost immediately.  You must have picked up on them, despite the wards around the building.” 

“You think?” he seemed genuinely surprised.  He considered, “Perhaps.  Perhaps so.  I don’t know.”

“What next?” she asked him.  “Now that this minor crisis is over, what next for us?”

“We go back to the Church, the Dark Castle if we need to, and get more information,” he replied.

**An Old Friend -- A New Ally**

Belle worked all day into the early evening.  She had gleaned information off the Internet and various news sources.  She talked at length with Father Hopper, or Father Archie as he had asked her to call him.  He had a surprisingly well-appointed library there at the Church and was proving to be quite the scholar himself.  _Belle had seen a special type of magic within the young priest.  She’d described it to Rumple as a Purity of Heart  -- it was why he was such a source of good advice._

“I understand that the Dark Castle has an enormous library,” he said to Belle as they worked together.

“Floor to ceiling, aisle after aisle.  It’s astonishing.  Rumple himself has no idea how many volumes are in there.  But it’s all a jumble.  There’s no obvious classification system, certainly no card filing system so everything is random.”

“How do find what you need then?” Archie had asked.

“The one time I did research there, the books I needed just . . .  _came_ to me.  Had to have been some sort of magic in play or I would never have found what I needed.”

“I’d love to see it some time, well, when things aren’t so . . . desperate.”

“That would be lovely,” Belle told him.  “I don’t think Rumple is used to guests, but I think we could work something out.”

Rumple had joined them.  “What have you got so far?”  They had been researching the latest plague.

“Some type of fungus – that’s what they’ve been saying.  It originally attacked grain products, especially corn.  If the grain was eaten by cows, the cows would become sick.  If an infected cow was eaten by a person, the person would become sick,” Belle explained to him.

“We're thinking . . .” Archie did not finish hesitating to break the news. 

“It certainly sounds likely that it is some type of ergot,” Belle told him.  “Ergot usually attaches itself to rye, but can attach to wheat or barley or other grasses.”

Rumple digested this last piece of information.

“Ergot?” He nodded.  He’d heard of this.  “That would get into grain in medieval Europe and people would eat it and the whole town would go insane.  It’s a hallucinogen?” he asked, to confirm.

“It can be,” Belle explained.  “But ergot poisoning also manifests as headaches, nausea, seizures, manic behaviors, even psychosis.  It also restricts blood flow to fingers and toes and you can lose these to gangrene.”

“An old plague,” Rumple confirmed.

“Can we go and talk with someone who’s on the front lines?” Belle asked him. 

He nodded.  “Father Archie, we’ll check back in with you when we can.  We’re on to the Midwest,” he announced.  He took Belle outside of the church and the two were swept away.

**Midwest**

Belle gasped as she looked around.  “Gosh, you can see like a hundred miles.”

“Or more,” Rumple told her.

“Where are we?” she asked. 

“I think, maybe Nebraska or Idaho.  I just thought ‘fungus’ and ‘corn,’ hoping it would bring us to ground zero,” he replied.

“Great,” she told him and looked down the long road that stretched out before them, with acres of corn on both sides.  “Could you perhaps now add ‘town’ and ‘place-to-spend-the-night’ to your _transmorphing_ spell?”

“Can do,” he agreed and they were off again, this time landing in a wide spot in the road with older buildings on both sides.  He had thoughtfully conjured two pieces of luggage for them to carry as he had learned that nicer hotels were generally uncomfortable with people checking in with no luggage.

“It’s beautiful,” Belle told him, heading off to the building that said, “The Harder Hotel.”  It was a three-story unprepossessing brick building with a bar on the ground floor.  “This will work,” she told him and stood by while he checked them in. 

They put their bags in the plain room and decided to try for some supper downstairs. There they found a crowded restaurant with a live band.

“Cultural center of the country,” Rumple muttered as they were finally seated.  “Wasn’t expecting so many people.”

“It’s very nice,” Belle tried to mollify the disgruntled man.  They were limited for dinner options and each decided on a large salad.

They sat back while they were eating and listened to the small local band play progressive jazz with brass instruments.

A pretty dark-haired woman with the suggestion of oriental features and a killer chic haircut played a soulful trumpet with the group.  She, with the members of the group, played an unusual interpretation of _Take Five_ for the attentive, appreciate audience and then switched to a rousing drum-driven rendition of _Sing, Sing, Sing_.  

“This is nice,” Belle told Rumple.  “I somehow didn’t expect something this sophisticated here.  Prejudice on my part I guess.”

“With any luck, the trumpeter will join us,” Rumple told her.

“Do you know her?” she asked.

“I do indeed,” he answered.  “And she can help us.”

Sure enough, the brunette came over to them when the band took a break.  “Rumple, good to see you again,” she greeted him exuberantly and gave him a quick hug.  “And this is . . . ?” she was looking at Belle.

“My wife, Belle,” he told the woman.  “I didn’t think to find you playing trumpet.  Should I be concerned?” he asked with a slight smile.

“Always.  I get some practice in during days like these, just in case The Order comes down,” the young woman smiled back at him and took his hand.  She then turned to Belle, “I’m Gabby, Gabby Rial.  During the day I’m with the US Department of Agriculture, trying to follow in the footsteps of good Dr. Wiley to keep our food safe.“  She then turned back to Rumple.  “You’re here about the _Schwarz Hand_?” she jumped right to the point.

“Yeah.  What can you tell us?” he asked.

“What do you know?”

“We think it’s related to ergot,” Belle told her.

Gabby looked at her, slowly smiled and nodded. “That or a particularly nasty form of erysipelas.”

“Ear-ree what?” Rumple asked.

“An opportunistic streptococcus infection, usually with fever, headache, vomiting and red, painful rash,” Belle replied.  Rumple looked at her. 

“How do you know this?” he asked.

“I read,” she answered.  “The worst case scenario for erysipelas is necrotizing fasciitis.”

Gabby looked over at Rumple, “More commonly known as  . . .”

He interrupted, “flesh-eating bacteria.  Hey, ladies, I’m not completely clueless.”

“Just born before the discovery of germs and other micro-organisms,” Gabby said smugly.  “Hey!” she signaled a waiter.  “My usual please,” she placed her own order.  She sat back.  “So they are finally getting you some help,” she said to Rumple. 

“Haven’t needed any until just recently.”

“But that’s been bad for you, to depend only on yourself.  Made you so much more grumpy,” Gabby told him.  “He is prone to grumpiness, isn’t he?” she asked Belle, who had to agree.

“He is getting better,” Belle spoke up on his behalf.

“Perhaps, I hope so.  Trust has always been a four-letter word to you, Rumple,” she told him and took his hand. 

“Can you blame me?  After I lost Milah and Emma and Bae, not to mention Abraham and Simon?”

“Of course not,” Gabby was still holding his hand.  “You were certainly entitled to grieve and rant at the unfairness of it all.”

Belle was watching the bouncy young woman.  Very pretty, with the odd silver gray eyes she had noted in Uri, Rafe, and Mike.  The waiter came by just then and put a large piece of cake in front of Gabby.

“My favorite!” she shared.

“What are you eating?” asked Rumple.

“What else? Angel food cake.  They make the best here.”  She dug into the light confection.   “Oh, you’ll need to take a Sniffer with you,” she told them, leaning back in her chair while she savored a mouthful. 

“Where?” Belle asked the other woman.  “What are we looking for?”

“The _Schwartz Reiter,_ usually known as the _Schwartz Hand,_ does not just produce famine.  It poisons the food supply and brings with it fatigue for the body and hopelessness for the mind.  Consider places with histories of mass hysteria, people turning against their neighbors,” Gabby advised them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumple and Belle decide on their next hot spot.  
> Belle makes a rash decision.


	17. Tracking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple and Belle decide on their next hot spot.  
> Belle makes a rash decision.

_Returning from the defeat of the Rot Reiter, Belle and Rumple continue to grow closer while Jefferson begins a liaison with a magical entity.  Belle gains more understanding of her husband’s apparent dual nature.  She is contacted by the leader of her former coven who has asked her to come without telling anyone.  Belle considers this but opts to leave a note for her husband, recognizing that the trust they have forged is still fragile.  Her audience with Rheul is confrontational.  Belle learns that both Cora and Zelena are now fighting for the forces of darkness.  She also learns that Rheul has made a deal with the demonic forces; she will give Belle to the demon in exchange for the safety of her coven. At the last moment, Rumple bursts in and saves her from Rheul._

_The two, with Father Hopper’s assistance, visit the epicenter of the famine, believing a fungus that produces neurological and physical problems is the manifestation of the Schwartz Reiter, also known as the Schwartz Hand (or Black Hand).  They meet a pretty trumpet player who gives them advice and suggests they take a ‘sniffer’ with them for the next part of their mission._

**Research**

Belle had again worked with Archie using the combined facilities of his library with what she could find on the Internet. 

Rumple had lounged in a side chair, fidgety and restless like a child at a boring lecture. 

Belle began, “There are any number of cases with mass hysteria components.  Most recently a situation in Malaysia where many people have seen a black figure and both adults and children reported some odd symptoms interpreted as possession by djinn or demonic forces.  But no one’s been harmed, at least not physically.  They had to close down the school and call in a _bomoh_.”

At Archie’s puzzled look, she explained further “A witch doctor, a shaman.”

“Then that’s not our location,” Rumple decided.  “Look for places where people have been hurt.”

They worked a little longer.  This time, Archie volunteered, “Well, another well-known case is the Le Roy High School where a number of girls, as well as some adults, developed behaviors similar to Tourette’s Syndrome, even PANDAS, but those two disorders are not cluster conditions, so those were ruled out.  They also considered a lot of externals, such as contaminated water, vaccinations . . . .”

Rumple sat up and asked, “Was there a resolution?”

“Yes, the final diagnosis was a conversion disorder.  It often affects teenage girls and does occur in clusters,” Archie explained. 

“What is that?”

“The person creates their own symptoms, but the symptoms are quite real.  Often it begins as a way for a person to deal with stress,” Archie answered.

“Sure it wasn’t demonic possession?” Rumple asked.

Belle shook her head.  “Pretty sure.  It’s like if you eat something and find out that it may have been tainted – most of us would begin to feel sick.  But, of course, the disorder has much more serious symptoms, including paralysis, difficulties with coordination, even blindness or seizures.  People do underestimate the power of the human mind to create very real physical symptoms.  Of course, no one was actually physically hurt here, although it was an anguishing time for those poor families.”

Dissatisfied, Rumple groused.  “Go back in time,” he directed them.  “The _Schwarz Hand_ doesn’t exactly have a human’s life span.”

The two researchers nodded and continued with their work. 

It was in the early morning hours when Belle stood up.  She and Archie had been working steadily and had made a list.  While they had worked, Rumple had alternately paced, meditated and once, obviously bored, he did a headstand.  At the moment, he was lying down on the short sofa that was in the Church Library and was semi-dozing.

“Rumple, Rumple,” she went over to him and shook him.  “We have some ideas.  Look at these.”

Her husband blinked a few times and sat up.  He usually didn’t require much sleep unless exhausted from fighting or use of magic. He typically would simply meditate to refresh himself.  But, bored, here at the Church, he had relaxed enough and very nearly fallen into a genuine slumber.  He was awake in an instant when Belle got his attention.

“All right.  We’ve done historical research and there have been three actual cases of mass hysteria where people have gotten sick or even died.”

He nodded.  She had his attention. 

Archie went first, “The first and oldest documented case of mass hysteria was from Strasbourg in the fifteen hundreds.  People claimed to have gotten a spider bite and about four hundred people began dancing non-stop for several days.  Many of them died from heart attacks, stroke or exhaustion.”

“Tarantism,” he told her.  “I was there.  It was definitely demon-driven.”

Archie continued, “The most recent incident we could find is from 2006, where people in Mumbai claimed the seawater had become sweet and people drank it, becoming sick with all manner of water-borne diseases.  

Now it was Belle’s turn, “Well, the last case is the most compelling.  About three hundred years ago, several teenage girls started to have nervous fits and made outrageous claims about some of their neighbors, accusing them of witchcraft, and in the two years before it was all over, about two hundred people had been accused of witchcraft and twenty people had been judged and executed.”

Rumple nodded.  “I’m quite familiar with this case.  The Salem witch trials.  It was a scary time for those people who saw the devil’s hand in every shadow.”

“There’s more,” Belle said and he looked at her to hear the rest.  “There is the suspicion that ergot poisoning may have precipitated the muscle spasms, the vomiting, delusions, the sensation that something was crawling under the skin.  These are all symptoms consistent with the current plague, what happens when people eat infected food.”

Rumple nodded.  “Sounds like we’re headed for Massachusetts.  We have to make another stop first.”

“What?  Why?” Belle asked him.

“Remember, Gabby told us to take ‘a sniffer.’  I think we should listen to her.”  He seemed satisfied with this plan.  “Now, let’s all get some sleep.”

**Salem**

Ruby was excited.  She had never been out with a Hunter of any nature before and to be out with two of them was quite the new experience for her.  “What am I looking for?” she asked.

“Something that’s not right,” Rumple explained to her.  “Something that makes your nose burn, your brain feel fevered and your body hurt.”

Ruby looked at him and frowned.  “You know, just once, I’d like to be with somebody looking for fields of lavender.”

Belle had to smile. The trio was standing in the forests outside of the town of Salem, the clean, fresh air invigorating.  Rumple had shared that he didn’t think the _Schwarz Hand_ would be sitting downtown in a coffee bar drinking a cappuccino.  “She’s a rather anti-social arsehole,” he explained to the ladies. 

Ruby had shrugged at this and muttered, “Takes one to know one,” but then she had smiled.  “Do you two mind if I change?”

“What do you mean?” Belle had asked.

“Into my other form.  When I’m a wolf, I can sense things much, much better.” 

“Go ahead,” Rumple told her, unconcerned.  He’d seen shifters before and knew how they operated. 

“Great, just get my clothes for me,” she asked and Belle watched as her friend dropped to the ground, her form writhing and in a flurry of change, a large, lovely, gray wolf took the place of the attractive young woman who had been there.  Her clothes were left in a crumpled pile on the ground.  Ruby raised her head, sniffing the air.  Then she looked at each of them and took off. 

“Damn,” Belle heard Rumple complain as he scooped up the clothing.  “I forgot how fast these creatures move.”  Then, he did a quick spell over himself and Belle to give them unnatural speed and the two took off after the young wolf.

It was perhaps an hour later when Ruby stopped and transformed back.  She seemed unconcerned about her nudity and Belle watched with some amusement as Rumple turned his head even as he was handing her back her clothing.  He kept his back to her while she redressed.  “The scent just disappeared,” she told them, slipping on her scanty undies first.  “It was strong and steady and then . . . poof, nothing.”

“Like the thing flew off?” Belle asked.

“Or sunk into the ground?” Rumple suggested.

“Or changed into another form – like a shifter might,” Ruby told them, pulling on her jeans and then her pullover.   “Ok, Rumpus, I’m decent,” she told him.

“Is this fiend capable of flight?” Belle asked her husband who had glared at Ruby.

He nodded, “She’s capable of a lot of things.  Flight, invisibility, murder, mayhem, stealing babies, putting rat poison in your coffee, keeping library books out after their due date . . .”

“That bad girl,” Belle told him. “So what’s our next step?”

“We try again tomorrow,” he replied and nodded to the two women.  “Ladies, how about I take you both out for dinner?”

Ruby nodded eagerly, “I’m ravenous.  I’m so hungry I could eat a sheep.”  Her companions looked at her, involuntary taking a half-step backward.  She smiled, “It’s a joke.  Shifting always makes me hungry,” she explained.

The three had a nice supper at The Howling Wolf Taqueria, Ruby eating more than her two companions combined.  Rumple had secured them rooms at a local bed and breakfast. He and Belle had their own bedroom but shared a bathroom with Ruby who had an adjoining bedroom.  Ruby had stepped in for a quick shower before retiring.    

Rumple had gone for a walk, not feeling the need for sleep and wanting to get a better feel for the place.  Belle had settled in on the bed with her old copy of the _Necronomicon_ , re-reading the sections on spells for protection (which she realized she knew very well) and those for fighting famine and bringing back fertility to the land (which all seemed to involve racy outdoor sexual activity, especially with virgins).  She was tired but was not finding that sleep was coming.  She kept feeling . . . _something,_ a restlessness as if something was not quite right _._

After about an hour, recognizing that she wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon, she decided to go and see if Ruby was awake and tapped on the adjoining door to her friend’s room.  There was no answer.

She tapped again and not hearing any response, she timidly opened to door to peek in, assuming her friend was asleep. 

Belle was surprised to find the room neat as a pin, the bed still made up, as if Ruby had never been in the room, certainly had never gone to bed.  She called Ruby’s name but there was no answer. 

This was odd -- unsettling and odd.  Belle thought a moment.  She sat down on the floor of the room and crossed her legs, getting into a meditative pose as her husband had taught her.  She closed her eyes and thought of her friend. 

_There had been a message waiting her.  Some other shifters in the area had sent their greetings and had asked to meet with her.  Ruby had left the room and gone out.  Belle followed her trail, her astral self shadowing her friend as she went out into the woods, changed and ran forward.  She was swift and sure as if she knew where she was going.  She came into a clearing.  There were others there.  Ruby had run into the center of the circle and waited.  Those around her began to shift, turning, not back into people but into black shadow figures – even viewing it from a spectral state and as something that had happened already, Belle could feel malice emanating from the shadows.  They surrounded Ruby.  Ruby had reacted instantly but had not been fast enough to escape the rapidly encroaching shadows who surrounded her.  In a short moment, Ruby had dropped, asleep onto the ground, a deep sleep, an unhealthy, unnatural sleep._

Belle found herself taking a deep breath and shaking herself, blinking her eyes open, briefly disoriented at finding herself in the bedroom at the inn.  _Ruby was in serious trouble.  She had to go and help her._

Belle realized that this was a trap, a way to separate the group and contain each member.  And she realized, even if it took valuable time, she shouldn’t go alone.  It was too dangerous.  She first called Rumple on his phone but heard the ever infernal device ringing on a dresser in the hotel room.  He had left it behind him, not unusual for him as he often seemed oblivious to technological advances.  She then tried _reaching out_ to him but was met with blankness – the man was either asleep or totally engrossed in something. 

Belle then called her friend, Astrid, back at her home coven. 

“Belle, are you all right.  You know what’s happened here?” Astrid sounded frantic.

“I do, but Astrid, I have another, very desperate situation where I am and I need your help immediately.”

Astrid paused but then quickly answered, “Of course.  What do you need?”

“Some way to connect with some local witches,” Belle told her.

“Can I call you back?”

“Yes, but do it soon.”

Belle paced in the room while waiting for the call, hoping that Rumple would return before she had to go. 

When her phone did ring, Belle jumped, startled. 

“What do you have?” she asked without preamble.

“Her name is Elsa Frost.  She’ll be expecting your call.”  Astrid gave her the number and hung up.

Belle dialed.  “Elsa Frost?” she asked as soon as the woman answered.

“Belle French?” the other woman responded. 

“Thank the stars,” Belle answered.  “I need your help right away.”

The two women arranged to meet in the hotel lobby.  Belle left a hurriedly written out note for Rumple and went down to wait on the local witch.

She was tall and blonde with large blue eyes, very pretty and very calm.  “What can I do for you?” she asked as soon as she connected with Belle.

“I have a friend who’s been put to sleep by the _Schwarz Hand_.  I know where my friend is, but I suspect a trap and I needed backup.”

“You got it,” Elsa answered without hesitation.

As they drove quickly towards the place Belle had seen in her meditation, Belle filled Elsa in. _The Schwarz Hand was back, tied in with the problem out west with the grain being spoilt and the cattle dying.  The contamination was spreading to other crops and a food shortage was becoming a definite possibility_.  Elsa nodded.  She and her sisters had been watching the situation.

Elsa absorbed the information quickly.  “So the _Schwarz Hand_ is one of _The Riders_?”

Belle nodded in agreement. 

Elsa considered, “We had wondered as much.  Often we can feel her presence in the area – this place seems to be one of her favorites.  I guess she had so much success here that she keeps revisiting us.”

“I would agree,” Belle told her.  They were deep into the forest at this point, Belle following the path she had gone in her meditative musings.  They parked and walked out to the clearing.  They could see Ruby’s body still in a heap on the ground, the shadow creatures smothering her.  The shadows raised up as the two witches approached and, initially as amorphous black fuzzy shapes, they coalesced into larger forms and began to float in their direction.

“Permit me,” Elsa told her and she stepped forward, concentrating.  Then she raised her hands and Belle felt the most intense cold she’d ever experienced.  Like a dome dropping over the area, everything froze. 

Elsa lowered her hands and stepped back.  “That should slow them up enough for us to get your friend and get out of here.”

As they entered the circle, Belle used her _sight_ and she could see the dark shadow figures moving sluggishly as if through treacle.  If she and Elsa moved quickly, they would be able to rescue Ruby and get her away without having to directly confront any of the demons. 

**A Note Discovered**

Rumple had walked all around the town, _feeling_ his way, looking for any overt signs.  The _Schwarz Hand_ had always been well able to hide, albeit often in plain sight.  She would touch small things that would later come together to create large problems.  This pestilence, along with the drought in some places and flooding in others, was all related to her plans to create famine. 

He had seen this before.  _The memories overwhelmed him and grief consumed him.  As his catalog of first-hand tragedies kept growing, his grief had become an entity unto itself and would sometimes rise up and drag him down into a black morass of depression._

He had seen it first hand in Ireland where a million and a half had starved, and most recently in China, where failed agricultural policies, a reduced farming force coupled with a flood one year, followed by a drought the following year, killed an unimaginable forty-three million.  This particular foray was actually threatening much of the world; he knew the affected part of the United States fed not only the USA but many other nations, especially with their soybeans.  This could be catastrophic for the human race if the _Schwarz Hand_ was successful in her mission. 

He was encapsulated in his anguish and missed the frantic call Belle was sending out to him.  It took him some time but somehow he managed to pull himself up from his depression and taking some deep breaths, he cleared his head.  He returned to the hotel room, expecting to find Belle asleep.  Finding the room empty alarmed him.  He immediately searched the room, expecting to find a note.  It had been hastily written.

_Ruby taken. I’ve gone with local witch to rescue her._

He saw red, then white.  He managed to sit down and tried to calm himself.  When he caught up with her, Father Archie be damned, he would beat her, he decided.  _She couldn’t keep risking herself like this.  First the Schatten Scheusal, then Rheul and now a far more formidable enemy in the Schwarz Hand.  She had to have known she was almost certainly walking into a trap._

Still struggling to calm himself, he centered and began to search for Belle. 

_She was alone._

_No, there was Something with her.  She was facing It alone._

**Facing Danger Alone**

Belle had left Ruby with Elsa and Elsa’s vehicle.  Elsa had promised to contact a local healer and some shifters to attend to her friend.  Belle, fully armed and confident in her ability to deal with minions, decided to stay in the clearing to assess what needed to be done to clear the area of dark forces. She stood a moment and stretched her senses but could feel nothing else except the dark cloud-like creatures.  She thought them likely susceptible to Holy Water and reached into her ever-ready arsenal for a bottle of the precious liquid, courtesy of the good Father Archie.  Her assessment correct, she made fast work disposing of them, quickly moving around to douse each of the sluggish creatures.  She then set off to the hotel, moving as fast as she could on foot, hoping Rumple would be there when she returned -- or perhaps even meet her on the road.

But before she could leave the forest she felt _Something_ different, suddenly and very strong, something very dark.  An Evil Force had abruptly entered the area.  Belle looked up and in the path before her, there was a woman, tall, gaunt with black stringy hair and foul breath.  She was dressed in a black shroud of a garment, with worn edges and loose, torn shreds hanging from her thin form, flapping in the light foul breeze that she had brought with her.

“Hello, Belle,” the creature greeted her. 

Belle froze.  She knew without further introduction that she was talking with the _Schwarz Hand_.

She made no reply, having learned from years of fighting lesser demons not to engage in conversation with such creatures. 

“Do you think remaining silent will protect you, my darlin’?” the creature rasped. 

Belle made no comment.  She was looking around for avenues of escape, things that might be used as weapons, reviewing what weapons she carried on herself, searching her mind for protection spells. 

“I understand what he sees in you,” the creature continued rocking back and forth from one foot to the other.  “You’re pretty and . . . smart, yes, you’re very smart.  I would not have guessed that dear, dear Rumple would have the forbearance to tolerate a smart woman.  Now, what do you think you two can do against me?”

Belle still did not respond.  She wasn’t sure her next, best course of action so she continued to watch. 

**Action**

Rumple had bolted out of the room.  He knew the general direction where he could find Belle.  The _Schwarz Hand_ would not confront her in a crowded place.  She was likely still in the forest near to town, standing in the shadows, standing by herself.

**The Clearing**

“He doesn’t trust you, you know that.  He thinks you’ll betray him, like all the other women in his life have.  He thinks you’re just another pretty whore like all the other women have been,” the Black Hand continued to talk, her voice low and hoarse.

Belle had begun to rock back and forth, possibly in mimicry of the dark force in front of her, but also in preparation for bolting. 

“Your faith in him isn’t strong enough to resist me, dearie.”

And Belle had it, at least part of it.  She knew some of what she needed to do.  _This creature preyed on health, physical health, mental health, spiritual health.  It created famine --vacuums, wastelands.  It took away nourishment, hope, the things that kept people going in hard times._

Faith and hope were two powerful weapons against this Darkness.

She thought of her husband, both the man and the imp.  She thought of his odd attempts at kindness, his quirky intellect, his amazing talents, his easy aggravation, all the things that made him unique and special to her.

“He lies to you, even now, he is lying to you,” the creature continued.

Belle continued to pull on her faith in her husband, ignoring the creature.

“You think you will survive this battle and the next one.  You think you will be able to go off with your husband and live with him on his little island, in perfect bliss and harmony.”  The creature lowered her voice.  “But it is not to be.  Do you know that even, by some miracle, if you are able to defeat me, you cannot defeat my brother?  He is Death and you will never have power over him.”

Belle wavered a moment but then thought of her husband’s eyes, his soft brown eyes, the color of fine whiskey.  She thought of his sardonic smile that pulled his mouth to one side while he curbed the impulse to make a snarky comment – and of those times that the snark came out.    

The creature licked her thin, dry lips.  “He will never be free of his Burden, did you know?  The archangels made a deal with him.”  The creature paused, “Ah, but you don’t remember, do you? You don’t know,” and the creature took a step towards her smiling in triumph.  “You got sick.  You almost died.  He traded his freedom for your health.  He will remain in servitude forever and ever.”

Belle couldn’t help but flinch.  _He had done what?!_

_She had learned early on that he did not welcome being a Gray Hunter, that he wanted nothing more than to put the burden aside and move on.  Had he traded his freedom for her life?  And then . . . not told her?_

_She ached to ask him, not willing to trust the demon._

“When your business with the Riders is finished, you will likely be dead anyway.  If you should survive, he will release you from your vows – because he cannot believe that you desire him.”

Belle felt herself becoming angry, at the creature, at Rumple.  _Why hadn’t he told her about giving up his freedom?_ At first, she tried to tamp down her anger but then she remembered what the imp had told her.  _Anger is acceptable.  It can be the energy to change things.  Dark drives, dark feelings, all can be channeled._

She turned on the Rider.  “We will stand together.  Whatever happens.  We will stand together.  We will be together.  You cannot separate us.   We will not break faith with each other.   I will never doubt him.  He will never doubt me.” 

The _Schwarz Hand_ looked at her, drawing herself up, up to her entire height, her skeletal frame seeming to grow even more and more slender.  She loomed over Belle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Belle and Rumple use Old Magic.  
> Rumple pays the price for using Old Magic.


	18. Fertility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Rumple use Old Magic.  
> Rumple pays the price for using Old Magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains smutty smut.

_Belle and Rumple have gone to seek out the source of the famine, an old persistent enemy who favors one of her more successful venues, old Salem.  Ruby has accompanied them but has gone out on her own in response to what appeared to be a summons from local shifters.  Rumple, out on his own searching for The Black Hand, is incapacitated by his own traumatic memories of previous famines and is unavailable when Belle calls on him.  Belle realizes that Ruby’s summons is a trap but she is determined to save her friend and calls on help from a local witch to rescue her friend.  Rumple meanwhile returns to the hotel and realizes that Belle has gone out on her own and begins a desperate search for her.  He senses that she is now confronting, by herself, the Black Hand._

**Old Magic**

Rumple had been running steadily since he left the hotel.  He was not running blindly, but using every _talent_ he had to sense Belle’s presence.  She was in distress, under a powerful spiritual attack but was holding on, reaching out, yes, reaching out . . .  to him.  He came into the clearing just as the Rider began to loom above his beloved.  Belle had dropped to her knees before the Cataclysm.    

“Belle,” he called out.  The Thing turned to him.

“You are too late, Hunter.  She gave up on you.”

He did not respond to the Rider.  “Belle, Belle, I came.  I came to tell you . . . to tell you that I love you.”

“Rumple?” Crumpled down to her knees she looked small and defeated.  She raised her face to him. “I love you, too,” she said. 

He closed on her and, dropping to his knees, wrapped his arms around her.

And at the same time, they both said, “I know how to defeat her.”

Belle smiled at him, “It is . . . pretty obvious – what we need to do.”

“Yes, we defeat this – together.  We use the Old Magic, the very oldest magic there is.  Magic that we will make together.”  He gestured and a white light appeared around them.

“This will give us protection for a short time, but we need something more,” he told her.  He gently kissed her.  “This is a creature that creates waste and famine, a hollowness within living things.  We can combat it . . . fight it with the Old Ways – together,” he told her.

Belle knew the Black Hand had gotten a grasp on her heart.  Even through the white shield her husband had hurriedly cast, she could still feel the creature closing in on her, drawing out her energy, weakening her with every breath.  She tentatively reached out and then began to draw on her husband’s strengths.

“A Fertility Ritual?” she managed to ask.

He nodded, “A Fertility Ritual.”

“That won’t work.” They could hear the _Schwartz Hand_ mocking them even through the protection sphere _._ “You need the blood.  The woman must be a virgin.”

“Guess it worked out that I was saving it for something,” Belle muttered. 

Rumple couldn’t repress a quick smile but then turned his focus back to his bride, “Together, we first cast a stronger protection spell.  Can you begin with that truly lovely golden protection spell you did in the Dark Castle?  I will add my own touches to it.”

Belle closed her eyes and concentrated.  _Normally she would have done this in the classically formal manner – casting The Circle and then the Protection Spell.  This, this she would have to do on the fly – just simply concentrating on the golden sphere.  She was so weak, but now she reached out in earnest and, holding onto Rumple, she felt his strength surging into her.  She was stunned at the depth and breadth of his magical reservoir.  So much energy.  So much power.  It made what she had to do so much easier._

_It started in the center, the solar plexus, of her own body – the calm, glowing sphere, growing, out from her own core, growing out from her body, encompassing herself and him.  Shimmering, shining, protecting, impenetrable.  It circled them, going down into the ground and reaching up and above them, circling them, taking in the thin white sphere he had just cast, protecting them, going down into the ground and rising high above them and all around them. Rumple added his own magics, rich, dark waves of energy pulsating all around, giving strength to the sphere._

_Yes, yes, this would be enough._

_That nasty creature would not be able to break her way through to harm them._

_Well, not anytime soon._

Rumple kissed her again.  “You’re so very, very brave.  I will do my best,” he promised her ignoring the Torment that had begun to claw at the sphere.  “This is not what I wanted for our first time together,” he muttered his apology.  “I wanted you in a bed, with sheets that smelled of starch and sunshine, not on the ground out in a forest.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Belle reassured him.  She was clinging to him as they both dropped and lay down on the grass.  She could hear the ragings of the Famine Rider as it began to pound against the protection sphere. 

“Concentrate on me,” Rumple told her roughly.  “If the ritual is going to work, it’s important that both partners experience . . .  satisfaction.  And fuck it all, we have a bit of a tough situation that we have to work around.”  His eyes locked on hers, he reached up her skirt and immediately encountered one of the blades that she had armored herself with.

Even in the extremity of their situation, he found this endearing, “I forgot for the moment how well-armed you are, my dear.”  He renewed his efforts at pleasing her, touching the tender flesh of her inner thighs and then whispered, “In my imaginings, I thought I would give you pleasure with my hands, then with my mouth before I . . . before we joined but I don’t think that will be possible, my darling.” He was still afraid that he wouldn’t please her, that he would hurt her.

_There had been other times with other women, not satisfactory, not even pleasant – more of an exchange of power, not of love._

He licked his lips, his concerns showing in his eyes, his face.  “Not this time.  Not enough time, before She breaks through.”  He gave her another quick kiss.  “I need to get you ready for me, to make it easier for you.  I’m going to touch you, all right?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her hands on his shoulders, holding him, holding onto him. 

“Close your eyes,” he suggested.  But when she did, it seemed to make the howling outside of the sphere louder.  She opened them and instead looked deep into his eyes.  He understood and smiled at her.

_Yes, this way might be better._

She could feel his lips, giving her more shy kisses on his cheeks.  She could feel his hands, gently stroking her.  She shifted to give him better access, enjoying the warm pressure of his clever fingers as they seemed to find their way, teasing, caressing her most sensitive feminine nub. 

“You are so beautiful,” he praised her, pleased with himself that she was already responding to him, his hand now slick with her moisture. 

“I want to touch you,” she complained.

“Another time,” he promised her.  “I think you may be ready.  That was quick.”

Belle blushed.  _She couldn’t very well tell the man that just being in the same room with him made her most sensitive insides twitch and having him standing close to her made her throb and having him touch her would soak her panties.  She felt like a woman of easy virtue but at the moment, he seemed happy with her response._

Rumple unfastened his pants, taking out his swollen cock, using some of Belle’s moisture on himself.  He positioned himself between her legs.

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” he directed.  “Look at me.”  She complied.  “I love you,” he told her and she felt him begin to enter her.  Belle felt burning and she gasped.  He stopped.

“You’re very tight, my darling,” he managed to say through gritted teeth.  _The effort not to tear into her was costing him._  “Let me give you a moment.”

Belle was distracted by the wailing sounds, so much louder and more dangerous sounding than anything that had emanated from the _Verlassen._ Instead, she made herself concentrate on him, on his weight pressing her into the ground, his spicy scent, his warmth, everything that was there around her at the moment. 

“It’s all right,” she managed to encourage him and he started moving again.

_Not so bad.  The burning had stopped.  She just felt stretched and full and  . . . after a moment, something else began.  He was pushing into her over and over and directly stimulating places inside of her that she didn’t realize could be stimulated._

_It was delicious and the sense of pressure began to build._

“More!” she asked him weakly, clutching him as she could. 

“Yes, there’s more,” he promised her and he continued to move within her, struggling to restrain himself, losing his battle to go slow and easy as the roar in his own head became louder and louder.  He began to push harder and harder, gaining ground with each thrust. 

It was warm at first, almost like a soft heated bubble, growing and building.  She panted and then it was like her entire body was holding its breath.  The bubble, now swollen to maximum, began to pulsate.

She burst against him, screaming his name this time, her nails digging into his shoulders.  Buried deeply and completely, he felt her begin to convulse around him and he didn’t even try to stop himself.  He knew he had shouted out and let himself go in great uneven spurts of seed as he emptied himself into her, his life force, his magic, all his reserves pouring out, pouring into her, out of himself. 

Light exploded around them and both felt like they had become conduits for powerful life energies, surging into them, pouring through them, saturating the ground, the very Earth itself.  They were overcome.

**The Forest Floor**

Belle opened her eyes noting quickly that the protection spell around them had disappeared and there was no longer any barrier between themselves and the outside world.  

There was no sign of the _Schwartz Hand._

She sat up, adjusting her clothing, pulling down her dress and recovering her panties next to Rumple. 

He had still not moved. 

“Rumple,” she touched his shoulder but she got no response.  She could tell he was still breathing but he seemed completely oblivious.  She found her phone in a pocket and pulled it out – dead, the battery drained. 

_Maybe she could transmorph them.  She had been learning ever more powerful magics from her husband and she remembered from earlier that Rumple could draw on the energies of the Dark Castle for healing – perhaps she could get them there._

_But what to do?_

She laid her hands on him and thought of the Dark Castle, their bedroom with its tall windows, the sea breeze coming through dancing with the curtains on the bed.  

She opened her eyes . . .

And she was still in the clearing inside the forest.

_Well, she had never transmorphed by herself before so perhaps going all the way to the Dark Castle was too ambitious.  She thought perhaps she could just get them back to their quaint little B and B bedroom._

She laid her hands on him again and thought this time of the dark varnished bed with its shiny chintz cover and the pale yellow walls of the bedroom. 

She opened her eyes . . .

And she was still in the clearing inside the forest.

This wasn’t good.

**Search**

“Listen, I appreciate everything you folk have done for me,” Ruby was talking.  “But I promise you, I’m all right now.  And I’ve got to go find my friends.  They haven’t returned.”

Elsa and a big burly guy, Fergus, the clan chief of the local werewolf family, were discouraging her from going out.

“You guys have been great, but there’s a problem. I’ve got to go and find them,” she insisted.

“Why don’t we go with you,” Elsa suggested.  “We all felt that energy vortex last night and I suspect your friends had something to do with that.  They could be in trouble and you might need some help.”

Ruby considered.  “Sure,” she finally said and the three set off, riding in Fergus’s enormous crew-cab high-riding pickup truck.

The first place they checked was the forest clearing since that had been the last place anyone had seen Belle.  Belle was on her feet when they came through, standing next to the prone form of Rumple

“Oh thank goodness,” she said as soon as she saw them.  “He won’t wake up. And . . . and I don’t seem to have any magic.  I couldn’t move him, contact anyone.  My phone is dead . . .” she trailed off helplessly. 

Elsa dropped to her knees and checked him over.  “There was a tremendous energy drain last night, magical, electrical, whatever.  It was pulled out of us and into the ground.  Your gray sorcerer friend here has been drained of his energies, including all of his magic.”

“Will he get it back?” Belle asked concerned.

“Oh yes, but it will take time.  Those with more magic will take more recovery time,” she stood up and looked at Belle, “You must have done a pretty powerful ritual here last night.”

Belle blushed.  “Yeah . . . I guess . . . yes,” she admitted.

“Well, it looks like we’ll all be in recovery for a while.  I know I’m back to about fifty percent of my strength.  But you two were at ground zero.  You were the focus point.” Elsa looked her over, “You’re both going to need a lot of rest and it will take you a while to recover.”

“Well,” Fergus stepped up.  “I’ll carry the wee man back to yer hotel for ye,” he volunteered and scooped up the slender form of the Hunter. 

Belle followed the other three out to the stalwart truck and they rode back to town together.

Belle shared, “I need to get him back to the Dark Castle but I’m too weak to make the transfer.  I tried earlier and I . . . well, I haven’t even been able to levitate a blade a grass.”

Elsa nodded sagely.  “The ritual took all your energies,” she said.  “You won’t be able to transmorph for a while.”  Elsa gave it some more thought.  “From what I know of the Gray Hunters, I don’t think just anyone would be allowed through his wards, even if there was someone powerful enough to take you both back to the Castle.”

Belle nodded.  _She didn’t think that even Jefferson would be able to manage it – he was too erratic and transmorphing wasn’t one of his skills.  She supposed they would both recover in time, just lying around, resting, but she wasn’t sure how much time they had._

_No, they really couldn’t afford the time to just lay around and gradually recover.  They really needed to find a way back to the Dark Castle so it’s healing energies could come into play._

“I’m not sure what to do,” Belle confessed.  “We can’t _transmorph,_ we can’t get there by plane or boat as it isn’t . . . “ she floundered.

“Somewhere you can get to by plane or boat,” finished Elsa and Belle nodded.

“I don’t know a spell that could get us there, even if there was someone who was strong enough to cast it,” Belle was still searching for an option.

“Have you considered a portal?” Elsa asked her.

Belle perked up.  “A portal?  I . . . I don’t know . . . I’ve never . . . Can you make a portal?”

Elsa nodded, “With the help of you and, of course, my coven sisters, I can.   I think we’ll have the energies between us.  But I need to know where I’m going.”

It took the rest of the day with Belle working with Elsa and her sisters, giving them a description and, as best she could, a location.  Elsa had decided early on that Belle would be critical in the construction of the portal, concerned that the Dark Castle itself would prevent anyone else from just walking in. But, Belle had only the most minimal magics to lend.  It was with great efforts that among herself, Elsa and the other witches, they were able to construct a glimmering door that, they hoped, once opened, would lead directly into the bedchamber at the castle. 

“He still hasn’t woken up,” Ruby told her.  “Will you need help getting him through and onto the bed?”  Ruby was planning on catching the train back to home, assured that Father Hopper would meet her at the station, but she had held back until Belle and Rumple’s situation could be resolved.

“We should be able to float him in,” Elsa told them, talking of Rumple’s comatose state.  “Once we open the portal, we’ll only be able to hold it for a little while before it closes.  We’ll need to move fast.”

Belle had to thank Elsa for all her help, giving the tall witch a hug.  She also hugged Ruby and wished her well on her trip home.  Then, Belle held her breath as the door shimmered and opened.  The image of a familiar bedroom came into focus.  She watched as it solidified and stopped wavering, so that it looked like what anyone would see when they looked through a doorway.  She walked through and immediately recognized the distinctive salt air smell of the place, a now comforting scent.  She turned and Rumple came through, floating and, now in the scales of his imp-form, he settled on the bed.  Then the door shimmered, closed, and disappeared. 

**The Dark Castle**

Rumple opened his eyes and noted the gray walls and white curtains that adorned his bed in the Dark Castle.  The room was cool with an always present breeze coming in from the ocean. 

“Hello, darling.”

He turned his head.  Belle was sitting by him, her hand holding his.  “Welcome back,” she told him.

“What happened?  I came on you and the _Schwarz Hand_.  I was afraid it was going to attack you . . .”

Belle gave him a gentle smile, “You had me cast a protection spell and then . . . you . . . you made me your true wife.”

He nodded, “Ah, yes.  It’s coming back.”  He looked around, “How’d we get here?  Are we all right?” he was looking around, down at his body, at Belle.  Everything seemed to be all right.

“We are fine,” she reassured him.

“I’d come back to the inn and you were gone,” he complained, trying to piece together what had happened.  “You had gone to help Ruby.”

“I did help her.  I had the help of a new friend.  She was able to help me get you back here.”

“How’s Ruby?”

“She’s going to be fine.  She connected with some other shifters and, last I heard, was on the train home.”

“And . . . and the _Schwartz Hand_?” he managed to ask.

Belle gave him a smile, “We used the oldest magic – sex magic, maybe, a little blood magic, and defeated her. She’s gone.  She talked a lot, trying to get me to believe that you and I had no future, that I couldn’t trust you.”

“You kept faith with me then?” he asked.

“I guess I did.  I remembered the story of how, long ago, St. Anthony defeated the _Schwarz Hand_ , with prayer and general goodness.  No fancy weapons or potions or magical boxes. He just had faith.”

“I guess we turned things up a notch,” he was smiling up at her.  “Why am I in bed and feel like a sick kitten?”

“The spell we used . . . it apparently drained us both of magic.”

He considered.  “That would make sense.  I rely on my magic to sustain myself more than you do so I would have been more affected.  How long have I been out?”

“About three days.  Hungry?”

“More like thirsty,” he admitted.

Belle wasn’t quite yet able to conjure food up from the kitchen but the Castle was amenable to preparing food that she could fetch up for her husband.  She soon set a meal in front of him, light, soft foods and tea to drink.

He slowly began eating.  He was unusually quiet, as was she.

“What happened . . . between us . . .” he began.

“It was remarkable,” she finished.

He pulled a face, “I always think of sex magic as being a little tawdry.  The combination of your blood and my semen . . .” he was shaking his head. 

“Doesn’t the real magic comes from the feelings the two people have for each other . . . when they love each other?“ Belle asked him.

He looked at her.  “Yes, I guess it does,” he agreed. “And I do so love you.  I think I felt something that first moment I saw you killing little redcaps.  You were remarkable.  The longer I was around you . . . I would feel desire.  And I resented you making me have those feelings.  Then I began to have respect for your general brilliance.  The longer I knew you . . . the more I realized that what I was feeling was so much older and much, much deeper than any passing fancy.”

Belle smiled.  “I thought you were a complete ass when I first met you.  An insufferable jerk.  An arrogant . . .”

He interrupted.  “I get the picture,” he said dryly.

“But as I’ve come to know you,” Belle continued. “I’ve begun to see this kind, gentle soul who has, time and time again, sacrificed himself for others.  It’s been a slower, longer path for me, but I have come to love you too.”

He managed a smile at her.  “Wife, you should know that when I came back to the inn and found you had gone out on a fool’s errand,” he leaned over to give her a quick kiss as she bristled, “A fool’s errand,” he repeated, “I was determined to lay my hands on you and beat you.  I was so furious.”

“You were, were you?” she was smiling at him.

_He was relieved that there was not even a whisper of fear in her eyes._

“I took off running out of there, looking for you.  I guess the run cooled my blood and I realized that a good part of my anger was fear that I might lose you.”

Belle kicked off her boots and lay against her husband, cuddled up against him in the safety of his arms. “So, two people in love, ritually consummating their love – that’s all it took?” she asked.

“It helped that we’re both very powerful magicians.  But, as I said, sex magic is always tawdry, although ‘ritual consummation’ does sound better than saying we fucked each other’s brains out in the woods,” Rumple agreed. 

She gave a deep sigh.  “Rumple?” she began.

“Yes, darling,” he answered, stroking her hair.

“She did tell me that you surrendered your freedom to save my life.”

He closed his eyes.  “You would have died.  My freedom was the price to save your life.  I gladly paid it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he told her. 

“I will not abandon you.  I will not allow you to put me aside.  You sacrificed yourself, your freedom for me.  I will stand by you,” she said honestly.

“Belle, you don’t have to.   I made the bargain of my own free will . . .”

“And I will stay with you of my own free will,” she assured him.

He lay quietly a while then squeezed her hand. His voice broke but he managed to respond, “Thank you.”

“Tell me, will the Gray Hunter burden be passed on to our children?” she asked him.

He hesitated.  “I don’t know.  I have a vague memory of Raphael, the doctor, the Erzengel from Andovia explaining to me that, as Sabbatarians, we choose the burden.  It is . . . who . . . what  . . . we are.  It is not laid upon us unwillingly.  I don’t know.  It is confusing.”

“So that means that our children aren’t doomed to take on the burden – it is something that must be accepted willingly?” Belle struggled to understand.

“As I now understand it, yes.  But, by their blood heritage, their inheritance, our children will likely be more than willing to take on the burden.  It is who they are.”

“So then why didn’t you . . . why didn’t we go ahead and . . .?” she floundered.

“I wanted to be sure you were ready.  I wanted you to be sure you felt love,” he told her.  “I made you my bride as part of a callous bargain without consideration of your feelings.  But I didn’t want to force you into my bed.  And, I was afraid, as the imp, that I would hurt you, that I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”

“So, how are you feeling now?”

He looked at her.  “Beginning to get back some of my energy . . . and more in love with my clever little wife than ever.” 

“Soooo, what are you thinking now?” she asked, a glint of amusement reflecting in her eyes.

“I’m beginning to think of some good uses for my limited energies.”  And he leaned over and kissed her. 

Rumple was wearing only his linen sleep pants and tunic top.  He traced his hand down Belle’s clothing.  She was wearing a dress with an over-apron.  Belle, her eyes now bright, pulled away from him for a moment, resting on her knees on the bed.  She pulled up the apron taking it over her head and dropping it onto the floor.  She hesitated but then, dropping her eyes, she pulled at her dress, picking it up by the hem and pulling it over her head.  She was now dressed in her cold weather undergarments, a snug vest that covered her bra and stomach, her panties and leggings.  She leaned forward to help Rumple out of his tunic top.

He was working on her clothes at the same time, the two moving nearly frantically as they attempted to undress each other while they both continued to kiss, both continued to touch one the other, all the while they worked.

Cuddled under his arm as she was, he stopped a moment, stilling her, to take the time out to kiss her thoroughly, exploring her rosebud lips and sweet mouth.  “You taste like honey and roses,” he told her.  She giggled and kissed him back.

“You are more like spiced whiskey, I guess.  I’ve never actually had spiced whiskey, but you taste like what I would imagine spiced whiskey would taste.”

He pulled back to admire her.  “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he told her.  “You know what we’re about to do?  Again. You’re sure about it?”

“I’ve quite sure, Rumple.  I trust you to take care of me.” And now she sat up to remove her vest and pull off her black leggings.  She turned back to him and set her hands on his chest. 

“I want to touch you.  This skin you have here, it is most unusual,” and she trailed her hands down his green-gold scales.  “You’re warm to the touch and smooth.”

“A legacy from my demon father,” he told her burying his nose in her hair.

“You ever met him?” she asked as she began to plant little kisses down his torso.

He took her by the arms and then lifted her chin so that he was looking her in the eyes.  “Let’s not talk about my father in our marriage bed.”

She giggled again and returned her attention to kissing his chest.

He leaned back, closing his eyes, very much enjoying her tender attentions.  She could hear a quiet purr coming from the man as she used her lips and tongue on his body. 

“Belle,” he began hesitantly, opening his eyes, “I would like to see you.” And he laid his hand against the back of her bra.

Her pupils widened.  She swallowed but then nodded and he unfastened her bra.  Slowly he took down the straps of the little lacy garment baring his wife to his gaze. 

He touched her, his talons brushing against the hardening nipple.  She shivered.  

She apologized, “I’m not so well endowed . . . .”

“You’re perfect,” he assured her.  He allowed himself some time to tease each nipple, finally pulling her into his mouth, suckling on one, while his hand continued to torment the other breast.  She moaned.

“That feels so good,” she told him, her head dropping back.  She was certainly enjoying the liberties he was taking with her body.

He enjoyed himself for a while but soon pulled her across his body and then rolled her over so that she was now on her back.

“I’m going to touch you, my sweet.  Just use my fingers.  I want you to tell me if I’m doing it right,” he whispered and dropped his hand between her legs.

_This was like what he had done to her that first time, except now . . .  now he was taking his time._

His fingers worked slow magic on her, at first circling, then brushing against her.  It was when his fingers began to move against both sides of her now swollen clit that she began to see stars.    

“Oh Rumple!” she gasped when he slipped one finger inside of her.

“I take it, I’m doing all right?” he was nearly laughing.

“Yes, yes, oh yes,” and she was holding onto him, lifting herself to him, nearly crying in her efforts to reach satisfaction.

He was a patient man although it didn’t take long for her to strain against him and break apart.

“So sweet,” he told her, kissing her as she thrashed through the orgasm he’d gifted her with.

“That was . . . that was nice,” she managed to tell him.

“Just nice?” he asked.

“Words fail me,” she admitted.

He’d held her while she came down from the intense experience. 

Then he shifted again.  “Belle, I’m going to kiss you,” he told her and it took her a moment to realize his intent.

“Oh,” was all she managed to say.

He gave her one of his most devastating smiles, his usually slitted eyes fully dilated in his ardor and he began to slither down her body, kissing her all along the way.  Already wet from his previous efforts, he first enjoyed just lapping around her delicate nether lips. 

She was tense, shyness overcoming her as he persisted in his attentions.

“Rumple, I’m not sure of this,” she told him, her fingers entwined in his hair. 

“Am I hurting you?” he asked concerned.

“No, it’s just that . . . this is so . . . intimate.  I’m not sure . . . I’m not . . . I don’t know what to do,” she finished lamely.

“Close your eyes.  Let the feelings take you away,” he directed her.

Trembling, she complied.  She could feel his clever fingers and his talented tongue upon her and when his lips closed over her now overly-sensitized clit, she felt a jolt of magic course through her. 

She lost control, tearing at the sheets, bucking up as the waves of pleasure tore through her, roiling over her, tossing her up and down.  She forgot to breathe and nearly blacked out.

He was on top of her and she felt him begin to push into her. 

“Come for me again, my Belle,” he asked her as he thrust up and, dutifully, she broke against him, this time, the sweet contractions of her body pulling him deeply into her. 

He had no stamina, weakened still as he was from the draining of his magic.  His libido was clamoring for release from his long self-imposed celibacy and the mere scent of his wife’s response was enough to send him over.  He blissfully released himself into the sheer heat of her receptive body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Belle and Rumple enjoy a brief honeymoon.  
> Rumple shares dark moments from his past.


	19. Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple and Belle enjoy a brief honeymoon.   
> Rumple shares dark moments from his past. 
> 
> This chapter contains references/descriptions of torture.

_Using one of the oldest magics, a Fertility Ritual, Belle and Rumple have defeated Famine but they have been nearly totally drained of their energies, including, especially, their magical abilities.  With the help of the local Salem coven, they have been able to return to the Dark Castle where they have again consummated their love and marriage._

**Confession**

It was their honeymoon --  although both of them knew well it wouldn’t, couldn’t last very long.  Rumple regained strength each day as did Belle and, quickly after his awakening, his magics began to return. 

He knew they should be practicing, working on Belle using magic during sparring and on her _transmorphing,_  but their practice sessions often quickly deteriorated into amorous episodes.  In fact, everything they did soon diverged into carnal release, sometimes sweet and prolonged, at other times, frenzied, even rough, as she couldn’t deny him.  Soon enough there wasn’t a room in the large place that didn’t have some sensual memory attached to it – the dining room table where he’d placed her on her back and leisurely stood and hammered her into delicious satiation, the kitchen where he’d pushed her against the wall taking her hard and satisfyingly, the hot springs where she’d encouraged him to sit still while she straddled him, riding him to their mutual enjoyment, the balcony where he’d had her lean forward while he lifted her skirts and slipped in from behind while his hand reached around to pleasure her from the front.

Even sleeping with the man had been an experience.  Belle couldn’t call it cuddling, not exactly, but after love-making he would keep his arms wrapped around her, often with one of his legs on top of her body, clutching her to him as if he couldn’t bear to let her go, as if he was protecting her from anything that might threaten her, as if he couldn’t risk losing her.

“Wench, you have infected my blood and I can’t get my fill of you,” he confessed one afternoon after there had been an aborted attempt to spar and the two had ended up on the practice room floor.  Belle had been proud of herself, having convinced the man to lie on his back while she wantonly explored his body, bravely touching him, learning what he liked, what he needed. The man had closed his eyes and grasped her tightly, likely leaving bruising as he lost himself in her sincerest attentions.  He stopped her only when she attempted to straddle his prone form and lower herself down onto him. 

“Let’s do another position,” he told her and, anxious to please him, Belle quickly acquiesced and had found herself kneeling on all fours.   

“Did you just call me _wench_?” she asked him _replaying what he had said earlier_ as he gently began to enter her, his hands on her bum.

“I did and I refuse to apologize,” he told her.

She had laughed and her arms had nearly given away.

“Go ahead, this also works if you lower your arms and put your head on them,” he told her.  And Belle had to try this too.

It was afterward, that evening in bed, when they were lying together, his arms around her.

“I can’t get enough of you,” she admitted.  They were now lying down, she mostly on top of him.  He was unusually quiet and she suspected what he was thinking.  “We need to get back, don’t we?” she said to him. 

“At least let everyone know we’re all right.  Check in with Jefferson . . . and Ruby . . . and Archie,” he agreed reluctantly.

And so, soon enough, they returned to the Church and were greeted enthusiastically. 

“Everything’s been amazingly quiet,” Archie told them.  “Soon after you were all in Salem, they were able to identify the fungus and came up with an agent to wipe it out.  The food supply seems to be steady now.  No more tainted corn or soybeans, sick cows or sick people.  They’re saying they will have Black Grain Rot resistant seed and farming procedures in time for next year’s harvest.”

They went next to reconnect with Ruby.  She was back tending bar.  She waved and smiled when she saw them and told Belle.  “I got in more trouble with you two in a day than I usually manage in a month.”

“So . . . you don’t want to go out with us anymore?” Belle asked her.

“I didn’t say that.  Anytime.”  But Ruby then became serious, “I’m having some bad dreams about being smothered.  Can either one of you help with that?”

Rumple had nodded.  “Let me have your necklace,” and Ruby handed him her unique wolf’s head necklace.  He raised his hand over it and the little red rubies that were the wolf’s eyes glowed.  He handed it back.  “That should help,” he told her and then looked around the bar.  “Where’s Jefferson?” he asked.

“He’s here,” Ruby told him.  “Got a girlfriend and he’s being happily drained of body fluids on a nightly basis.”

“That’s nice,” Belle said.

“A girl?” Rumple asked.  “Anyone special?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve only seen her once.  Pretty, dark hair, dark eyes.  He calls her Lily,” Ruby shared. 

“What?!” Rumple was startled.

“Lily,” Ruby repeated.

“Is . . . is he here now?” he asked.

“I guess.  He usually comes down about seven or eight,” Ruby told him.

Rumple sprinted off to go to the man’s upstairs apartment.

Some time later, Ruby asked Belle, “Do you think you need to go after him? He’s been gone for a while.”

“Perhaps,” Belle reluctantly agreed.  She had been enjoying sipping the Goblin Firewater and contemplating things she might do with the intoxicating beverage and her husband’s taut body and was not happy to do much else at the moment.

She got up, exerting herself to go on up the stairs.

She rapped on the door.  She couldn’t hear any sounds, so, nervously, she opened it and went in. 

They had been arguing, no question.  The air in the room was singing with displaced, angry emotions. 

“Can I help?” she asked.

Simultaneously, Rumple said, “no,” and Jefferson said, “yes.”

She looked at Jefferson.

“Tell him, I’m grown man.  I make own decisions.”

“And tell him that he’s an idiot,” Rumple spoke up before Belle could say anything.

“I know what this woman is . . .” Jefferson began.

“You don’t have a clue,” Rumple interrupted.

“We talked before . . . before anything happened,” Jefferson explained.

Belle waited but when Rumple had nothing more to say, she asked, “Just who is this woman?”

“I met her on Proveglia.  She is powerful entity . . .”

“The Mother of All Demons!” Rumple shouted.  “He’s boinking the Mother of all Demons!”

“Lilith?” Belle asked.

“Ah, I knew you would understand,” Jefferson told her.

“I’m not sure I do,” she admitted.

“See, even Belle thinks you’re an idiot,” Rumple told him.  He had flopped into one of Jefferson’s fine leather chairs. 

“I didn’t say that,” Belle said.  “But I do have to wonder if it is wise to have a liaison with such a powerful creature.  Tell me, Jefferson, is this just a casual fling . . . or is there something more to it?”

Jefferson looked at the floor.  “It started as casual fling.”

“But now?” Belle pressed.

“Maybe more.  Maybe just me, my feelings.”

Belle considered a moment before saying anything more.  _She really needed Archie and his insights for this situation._ “Jefferson, be careful.  You will come to us if you get into trouble, no matter what?” she asked.

“Yes,” he promised.

Rumple was still glowering and, as he and Belle went back downstairs, he muttered, “He’s an idiot.  My best friend is an idiot.”

“I don’t know that.”

He stopped, “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“You must realize that my people have a completely different understanding, an appreciation if you will, of Lilith,” she began.

“Your people are wrong,” he said sourly.

“Are we?  Do you know that for sure?  I think that Lilith can be very threatening -- especially to men.  She wants autonomy, freedom, the freedom to choose for herself. She wants to be on equal ground with men, not better than a man is, but certainly not below him.  We . . . uh . . . rather admire her.”

“She practices the most lewd sexual practices, seduces men . . .”

“She likes men . . . and sex . . . and after being with you for the past few days, I can hardly blame her.”  Belle grinned at him and brushed her hand down his arm.

His glance followed her touch.  _What could he say?  He liked that she enjoyed sex with him – it was . . .  exhilarating._   “Her children are monsters, demons, dark entities,” Rumple said quietly, beginning to flounder. 

“So if a woman has a child who doesn’t quite fit the norm then she’s evil?” Belle asked, following his reasoning to its conclusion.

Rumple stood a moment.  “Well, no, of course not,” he conceded the point.  Then, “She may be my grandmother!” he finally admitted.  “I don’t know for sure, but given that my father was a demon and she is the Mother of Demons . . .”

“How very interesting.  So, is it that she is the Mother of Demons or that she might be your grandmother that is squeeing you out that she’s doing your best friend?”

Rumple considered, “A bit of both.”

Belle nodded. “Well, Jefferson doesn’t seem to be physically damaged.  My concern is if he falls in love with her, he may end up heartbroken,” she told her husband.  “He needs to know he has friends who care about him and respect his choices.”

“Now you sound like Father Archie,” Rumple said thoroughly disgruntled.

“Thank you,” Belle told him. 

**Respite**

Rumple continued to mull over his concerns for his friend and his prejudices against Lilith while the couple stayed in the Church wing.  Belle did not press him on the matter, respecting his prior histories and his feelings about the woman-creature.  She didn’t complain when he insisted they return to the Dark Castle.

It wasn’t over, of course, it was not over.  They had faced only three of the four Riders and still had the one undefeatable Rider ahead of them. 

But they both knew to share their few fleeting moments during these brief, quiet times.  They were able to spend time together in the Dark Castle.  They took walks in the day and she read to him as they sat by the fireside at night.  He tried to teach her to spin, but she was hopelessly uncoordinated. 

But other things he was successful in teaching her, especially to use magic while she was fighting and, of course, to _transmorph_ , to _disapparate_ herself from one place to another.  This last she found much more difficult than she had ever thought it might be.  _There was so much to remember._ She first began going from room to room only and then it was for longer distances.

“Is this dangerous?  I mean, can I manifest with half of me in a wall or furniture.  What if I misjudge?” she had asked him.

“It’s actually not dangerous, just exhausting.  The magic won’t let you appear with half of yourself inside a wall or ten feet up off the ground or inside an oven.”  He did, however, warn her to be careful not to transport herself onto holy ground.

“Why not?  Will I disappear? What happens?”

“It hurts like hell,” he’d answered her.  “I guess, the magic is not compatible.  I’ve done it a few times when there’s been an emergency, but otherwise, I try to appear outside of the Church if I’m going there,” he explained. 

She nodded and continued practicing. 

**Rumple’s Past**

“Were you happy with Milah?” she asked him one cold, rainy night as they lay together.  She was wide awake.  Earlier, Rumple had been teaching her to use magic during sex and she was now full of energy, her whole body alive and tingling.

“Yes, at first,” he answered honestly.  “She had helped me, help heal me during a very difficult time.”

“What had happened?” Belle asked him and then pulled back.  “You . . . you don’t . . . you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“It might be a good thing.  It’s been a very long time now and I’ve healed as much as I’m going to, I think.  Perhaps talking about it would be good.  For me to share.  It’s not something I’ve shared with anyone,” he confessed. “Except some with Abraham.”

Belle nodded.  There was a long pause before her husband started talking.

“I had gone to Dracula’s castle, officially to help him buy property in London.  Unofficially, I was there to case the place, look for holes in his wards, ways my friends could get in, any weaknesses.  I was young, arrogant, smug, quite satisfied with myself, very confident in my abilities.  Quite the arse.”

“So what happened?” Belle had smiled at his description of himself.

“I had finished my job and was about to leave when I was accosted by Dracula’s Brides.”  He paused.  “There were three of them, beautiful, the most beautiful women I’d ever met, taken from different parts of the globe, fitting mates for a demon noble.”

“They stopped you from leaving?”

He nodded, speaking slowly, flatly.  “They first did _something_ to neutralize my magic.  It was a cuff they fastened around my wrist – it stifled my magic and made me no more than an ordinary human.   Then they used chains on me, on my ankles and my wrists, chaining me to a bed.”  He closed his eyes.

“Belle, I had never been with a woman before.  I had spent my life studying, training, engaged in all the things a Gray Hunter needs to learn if he is to survive.” 

Belle could only listen with growing dismay.  She had an idea of what was coming. 

“One of the brides bit me on the wrist and drank very deeply.  It was so painful, searingly painful.  While she drank my blood, her sister-wives removed my clothing and amused themselves touching me . . . arousing me.  I was weakened and could not resist when the vampire bride straddled me and took me into her body.”

“Rumple,” Belle began but he shushed her.

“That first time for me – it was a mix of pain and glory.  I couldn’t help but respond. I was, after all, young and healthy.  And she was so very beautiful and it was all so . . . very . . .  stimulating.”  He took several breaths, “Then the second vampire bride bit me on the neck.”  He stopped for another moment.  “I could feel my blood pumping into her.  Apparently, the brides were very impressed with how quickly my body responded to their attentions and it was only a short time before the second bride was able to rape me and then. . .  and then there was a bite on my inner thigh and . . . and the third bride took her turn.  That continued through the first few nights, I don’t know how many times – each taking their turn, feeding on me, raping me.  I was weakened and helpless.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It gets worse,” he warned her.  “At some point, they began to feed me their blood and I became unable to resist their commands.  They released the chains and taught me different ways I could give them pleasure, using my hands, my mouth, my cock. If I didn’t perform to their satisfaction, they would whip me, sometimes suspending me and throwing salt water into my open welts.  Their favorite game, which would last for hours, was to arouse me and then have me perform different tasks; I would be punished if my . . . my interest lapsed.  There were other . . .  more creative . . .  activities.  Sometimes I was blindfolded, sometimes I would have . . .” he stopped for a moment.

“Sometimes I would have . . . things . . . placed in my anus. They used ice, fire, pressure, sharp, noise to torture me.  I would be deprived of food, water, sleep . . . made to stand for long periods.  I don’t know how long I was held prisoner but . . . “ he stopped. 

Belle wrapped her arms around him and held onto him tightly.  “I broke, Belle, I broke,” he whispered.  “I was willing to do whatever they asked of me.  I was collared and displayed for their amusement for the other vampires.”

He closed his eyes and stopped.  Belle knew she was dropping tears onto his chest.  She laid a soft kiss on him.

“Then Dracula came in to inspect their work.  They had me . . .  bend over a table and he sodomized me.  After that, I was left in a dark cell and sometimes I was fed and sometimes I was not.  The brides would come, usually singly, sometimes together and amuse themselves with me, sometimes using me for sex, sometimes just tormenting me.”

Belle could hear the rain hitting outside the room.  She had said nothing, had nothing to say _what could she say?_ There was a long moment before he continued.

“I was rescued by Quincy. He found me in the cell, beaten, weak and sick.  He took me out of the castle and helped me return to England.  Dracula had already made his move there and was settling in -- to feast on the innocents.  While the others formulated a plan, Van Helsing was able to figure out a way that Dracula could be killed; he created the Flail and discovered in the most ancient texts the magics that would be needed to enchant the weapon.  He also researched the cuff and was able to remove it from me allowing me to begin to recover my full strength.  He left me in Milah’s care.  She had some healer magic, along with her other talents, and helped me return to health.”  He stopped again.

“Rumple,” Belle started to speak, but he waved her off.

“When it came time to confront the Vampire, I was strong enough to bewitch the Flail, putting on it the most powerful magics that Van Helsing had discovered.  Casting the spells, spewing out the magic, that was my job and I did it.  But Belle,” he could not look at her.  “I could not go into battle against the vampire.  I was too afraid, too much of a coward.  I left him for the others to fight and . . . and he killed Simon.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Belle told him.

“Oh, but it was.  If I had had a spine, if I had only been brave, I would have gone in with them.  By that time, I was healthy enough, strong enough.  I could have handled it.  But I let Van Helsing, Simon and Quincy go in without me, telling them that I was still too weak.  And Simon died . . . he died because I was a coward.  If I had just been there . . .” 

“You were not a coward,” Belle told him firmly.  “Your body might have healed but you were deeply traumatized.  Your mind had not healed.  You were still very, very hurt, vulnerable, weakened by what had happened to you – it’s a credit to your strength, your bravery that you survived at all.  And you can’t know, if you had been there, if you would have been able to save Simon.”

“That’s what Van Helsing told me,” he told her. 

“From what you’ve told me, he loved you very much, like a son.  I’m sure he was very proud of you,” Belle assured him.

“He was, often, like a father to me,” Rumple admitted.  He looked at Belle, moonlight reflecting off her porcelain skin, making her glow, as if the light came from within her.  “You are so much like him, in so many ways.  I’ve often wondered if . . .”

“What?”

He shrugged.  “To my knowledge, there was only ever one woman that Van Helsing was involved with, that he loved -- Anna.  The relationship didn’t last.  She was a wild, free spirit, a gypsy, with powerful, powerful magic of her own.”  He looked at Belle.  “She was good for him.  He was so stodgy and particular, while she was so . . . so very much alive and in love with life.  I’ve often wondered if there wasn’t a child resulting from their rather volatile relationship and. . . did that child have children, eventually producing Quincy Morris.  He didn’t have magic, but certainly had many of the Sabbatarian gifts.   I had often wondered if he were descended from Anna and Van Helsing . . . ?”

“That would mean I might be descended from two Gray Hunters, Van Helsing and Belmont,” Belle finished.  She was shaking her head.

“It would explain your scholarship, your magical propensities, and your fighting talents -- all.  We’ll have to ask my aunts.  This is something they would know but wouldn’t bother to tell anyone,” he said.         

The next night it was still sleeting and cold with an icy wind blowing in off the ocean.  They were in the great room of the Dark Castle, Belle reading, Rumple sharpening their weapons.   They heard a knock on the door.  Rumple motioned for Belle to stay seated and he went out to the hall to answer it.  Unable to stop herself, Belle followed him and was peeking around the corner seeing the dark silhouette of their visitor against the white wind.

“Surprised you bothered with knocking,” Rumple spoke sourly.

“I’ll be the last visitor you have who knocks.” 

“Come in then,” she heard Rumple tell their visitor.  “Belle,” he then called out.  “I know you’re there.  Come on out.”

Belle came out and faced the visitor.

“You remember Uri,” Rumple said.  Belle did remember him and curtsied.  Rumple led everyone back into their sitting room.

The Erzengel sat stiffly.  He was dressed, as always, in black with no overcoat to protect him from the bitter weather.  His pale blond hair lay plastered to his shoulders.  His icy silver eyes looked more tired than Belle remembered.

“Can I get you something?” she asked him.  “Something to eat . . . or drink . . . or whatever?”   _Whatever would, could this . . . this angel want? And would they have such a thing in the castle?_

He looked at her, his silver eyes now shining.  “You are most extraordinary,” he said.  “I don’t know what I was expecting you to be like, but you exceed what I thought you would be.”

“Thank you?” Belle said, unsure of what to say. 

“I find you beautiful,” Uri said to her.  “Your soul is special, clear, uncorrupted, pure.”

“She’s mine and off limits to your kind,” Rumple reminded the Erzengel, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the cold, dark angel. 

Uri shifted and looked back at Rumple.  “The worst is yet to come.  The _Bleich Reiter_ cannot be killed – only _sent back_.  He will first send his minions and they will assail this castle.  Be careful.”

Rumple gave him a tight smile.  “You know, just once it might be nice if you made small talk.  Asked how our garden is doing.  Comment on the decorating job Belle has done in the Castle.”  He sighed.  “But no, it’s always doom and gloom.  All right.  Anything special we need to know?”

“You will encounter those you have known before.  Some will prove to be friends.   

“All right.  Anything else?”

“Keep faith in each other.”

“Thanks, Uri.  Now, are you going to want a place to stay the night or will you just fade out into the night?”

Uri gave him a slight smile and gently faded right before their eyes.

“Always creeps me out when he does that.  He’s like the Cheshire Cat,” Rumple complained. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: The Dark Castle's wards are breached!


	20. Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Castle's wards are breached!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little smut in this chapter

_Belle and Rumple have enjoyed their time together working together on improving Belle’s magical skills and, later, briefly reuniting with their friends.  Rumple shares with Belle a traumatic time in which he was held prisoner and abused by the Brides of Dracula.  The abuse broke him and, despite being physically healed, he was emotionally unable to accompany the other Gray Hunters in their confrontation against Dracula; he sees himself as a coward and blames himself for Simon Belmont’s death. Belle does her best to comfort him.  Later they are visited by one of the Erzengels who counsels them concerning the coming Final Battle._

They had watched Uri slowly fade in front of them.

“Always creeps me out when he does that.  He’s like the Cheshire Cat,” Rumple complained. 

Belle sat quietly for a moment.  “Can you tell me something?”

“If I can,” he replied.

“Uri . . . exactly what is he? You’ve told me he’s an _Erzengel,_ an angel, right?  But what is his role in all this?”

Rumple did not immediately answer her

* * *

.  “What do you think it is?”

“He’s like a messenger of some kind.  I couldn’t help but notice, that Rafe, Mike and Gabby all had the same color eyes, that odd silver color.”  Belle took a long moment.  “They’re related, aren’t they? They were . . . they are all _really_ angels, I think.  Like . . .  with wings and halos?”

“Yes.  They are _Erzengels_.  What you call the Archangels:   Rafael, Michael, Gabriel, and Uriel.  They are indeed messengers and, sometimes, advisors.” He shrugged, “Although Michael has always been more inclined to become directly involved than the others.  This last incarnation was quite different for him – usually, he comes in swinging a flaming sword.  I was relieved to see that he was no less powerful as a . . . what you would call ‘a computer nerd’ than he has been as the fierce fighter, leader of armies.”

“So what we’ve been fighting . . . ?” Belle began.  “Disease, War, Famine and now . . . Death?  You and the angels have been calling them the Four Riders. Confirm this for me -- they _are_ the Four Horsemen, aren’t they?  The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?”

“Yes, absolutely.  Every so often, about every one thousand years they make a try at overturning the Natural Order.  It’s time again for them to try.  It was the duty of my people to fight them but . . . well, the Van Helsings and the Belmonts seemed to have gotten sidetracked and . . .  killed off, mostly, except for you.”

“I’ve learned that.  I seem to be the inheritor of the Belmont power which was passed on to the Morris Clan, and now, you think, maybe, possibly, the scholarship of Van Helsing -- if your idea about Van Helsing and this Gypsy Anna is correct.”

“Yes, you have ownership of The Flail that could kill the vampires, servants of the Death Rider.  It could only have come to you through Quincy Morris after he got it from Simon.” 

“My mother’s flail?  Can I have it back?” she asked him.

He gave her his gentlest smile.  “I think so.  I think you’ve shown several times over that you are worthy, more than worthy, to wield it.”  He went over to the familiar black chest _that was also in his room at the Church_ and opened it.  He pulled out The Flail and handed it over to Belle.  “Keep this on you at all times.  This castle is heavily warded but our enemies are very, very powerful.”

Belle looked around.  “You think they could break into here?”

“More likely, they will try to enter through subterfuge.  Only someone who is invited in can get through the wards and that would be doubly true for any vampire who _must_ be invited across your threshold to come into your home.  Uri suggested that they would send in someone that we knew and trusted.”

Belle got up and began pacing.  “I don’t like this.  Waiting.  Can we not . . . can we not take the battle to them?”

“And where would we go, my darling?” he asked her. 

She sighed.  “I don’t know.  How can you sit there and be so patient?”

“Lots of practice.”  He rose and walked over to Belle, taking her hands into his.  “It will happen when it happens.  We should enjoy whatever respite we’re given."  

Belle looked at him.  His eyes had darkened and she knew she was seeing the imp begin to emerge. 

“Not afraid you’ll hurt me still, are you?” she asked him.

“No, we are at peace with that.”  He traced his hands up her arms, delighting in the cool smoothness of her skin.  His hands clasped around her shoulders.  “Bedroom,” he murmured and there was that odd sense of disorientation and they were up in their bedroom. 

Here he began to slowly pull her clothing off, unfastening her leather vest, unbuttoning her blouse.  When she tried to reach for him, he stilled her hands.  “Let me, I want to disrobe you,” he told her thickly. 

She shivered, instinctively recognizing the passion that laced his words. 

“You are so beautiful.  You know that, don’t you?  The first moment I saw you, I thought you . . . ethereal, fairy-like.  I never thought you would be mine.”

“I’m rather surprised myself to be in this position, happy, but surprised,” she smiled at him.  He was tugging on her skirt and managed to unfasten it so that it fell to her feet.  She was still dressed in black leggings, her boots, and her under-vest muslins. 

He smiled again at her and pushed her onto the bed so that he could take off her boots.  These were followed by her socks and then he reached up to pull down her leggings.

Now she was dressed in only her close undergarments and the muslin blouse she had worn under her vest.

He stepped back to look at her and again she closed her eyes to the heat of his gaze.  He pushed her back onto the bed and settled in next to her reaching over to pull off the muslin blousing. 

She wore now only her skimpy bra and panties. He traced his finger along the top of her bra going up and down the curves.  His hands were warm and sure.  He lifted her up so that he could get to the clasp of the brassiere and unfastened it so that he was able to slip it from her shoulders and down her arms.  She reflexively crossed her arms in front of herself, but he took her by the wrists and lowered her arms. 

“Let me look at you,” he ordered her.  “I want to see you.”  She closed her eyes as he scrutinized her, every curve, every valley, every light and shadow.  He sucked in his breath.  After a moment when Belle didn’t feel any further movement, she ventured to open her eyes.  He’d been waiting for her to do just that and caught her mouth in a quick harsh kiss. 

“Keep your eyes open.  I want to watch your eyes when you come for me,” he told her as he lowered his hands to pull off her dainty undies, his hands caressing her thighs as he dragged the panties down her legs.

She stilled for a moment.  “I understand why . . . why this might be difficult for you, but . . . and . . . only if you’re all right with it . . .” she hesitated and he lay quietly, waiting for her to finish.

“I’d like to be on top . . . for once,” she looked at him through her lashes.  _She understood now why he had resisted this position with her – it had been how his captors had used and abused him._  “Trust me?” she asked him.

He considered.  “I trust you,” he said slowly.  He lay down on his back.  “Let me tell you when I’m ready, what I want you to do.”

She nodded.

“Unfasten my pants, please,” he made his first request.  Belle sat up and turned to face him.  Kneeling beside him, she began to un-work the laces on his leather pants.  Although she certainly appreciated how well the pants looked on his wiry frame, she had to admit they were a challenge to get off.   The pants were slow to come apart despite her eager attentions and she was relieved when they finally revealed his now engorged cock.  It sprang free once she had removed the lacings that had kept him private. 

In a moment of boldness, she laid her hand on him.  She relished his moan as he was offered some bare modest release.  When she didn’t let him go, he stiffened.

“Belle?”

“I want to touch you,” she told him.  “Please, like you touch me.  I want to . . . “ she wrapped her fingers around him and began to move up and down on his shaft.  She watched him closely to make sure she didn’t see any signs of panic.    

“Ah, Belle!  I don’t know that I will be able to stand much of this.”

Now it was her turn to smile, “You will.  You’re doing so well,” she encouraged him.

“But I’m already so far gone in my need for you,” he pleaded with her as she continued to explore the length and texture of his organ.  Then she leaned down and gently took him into her mouth.

“Oh god, Belle!” He had closed his eyes and had reached down to thread his fingers through her hair. 

Belle stayed focused on the taste, the spicy taste and smell of the man.  She was new at this although she had already savored the flavors of his skin through her kisses many times before in their lovemaking.  She thought she was learning quickly what he liked, gauging his appreciation based on how rigid his fingers felt against her scalp.  The tip seemed especially sensitive and she would wrap her tongue around him and apply suction while she would move her head up and down his shaft. She quickly tasted salt and realized that he had begun to seep pre-cum into her mouth.  She knew she was pleasing him and this encouraged her efforts.   

“Belle, Belle!” he was gasping.  “This is too much.  Stop, stop,” he pleaded.

She lifted her head immediately.  “Really? Really stop?” she asked.

“Really.  It’s not . . . The Other, what I went through.  It’s that you’re bringing me too close.  I think . . . I think I’m almost ready for you to be . . . to be on top.”  He managed to sit up and pulled her up.  His eyes had completely darkened and his voice had roughened.  “You accept me in this form.”  It was a statement, one made in wonder.

“Of course.  It’s you I love, no matter what shape you take,” she assured him.

“And you trust me, even like this?” he asked.

“I do.  You’re dark and light, both.  They’re both part of you.  In this form, you are beautiful too.”

He pulled a face, “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course, I do,” she told him. 

He shuddered.  “I . . . I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.  “I’ve lived a long time and done so many, so many dark things.  I’ve lived in the shadows so long.  But you are like the sunshine, a light that beckons me, a light in an ocean of darkness.”

“That’s enough talk,” she told him and began pulling off his shirt. 

He laughed and lay back down again.  He took a deep breath. Then another deep breath.  “All right.  I think I’m ready.”

Belle was more than ready.  She straddled him putting her knees on either side of him.  She allowed him a few moments but he still seemed accepting so she guided him to her entrance and slowly began to lower herself.  She still found his size daunting and proceeded slowly, intensifying his experience.  He wanted nothing more than to put her on her back and pound into her, _anything, anything except being the easy ride of a predator_ but he restrained himself recognizing that what was happening now was not what had happened _before._   _And what she was doing -- at the moment -- was very pleasant, very enjoyable_

Belle found a rhythm soon enough, raising and lowering herself.  Once she started moving, he put his hand down between them, catching her right at her sensitive little nub and she caught her breath at the unexpected stimulation. 

“Rumple!” she cried out as she began to feel that now familiar tenseness begin to grow. 

He reached up and touched her face and then he entwined his fingers in her hair.  When he felt her clench and shiver he pushed up with his hips and pulled down with his hand so that she fell onto him and he could kiss her hard on the mouth.  She had stopped moving but after a moment she lifted her head and blinked her eyes. 

“Do you want to finish me off?” he asked her softly. 

She recognized that he had not yet come for her.  She nodded and began again, rocking herself against him, unwittingly squeezing his sides with her thighs.   _It was like riding a dragon, she thought, a fearsome, powerful, unpredictable dragon._ Caught up in his own intensifying passions, he didn’t see her winsome smile.  He caught her hips and held her to himself as he began to release into her.  She felt him break within her, felt his seed pulsing into her.  He stopped her moving. 

“Belle, stop.  I’m finished, my sweet girl,” he finally gasped.

“You were wonderful.  Did I do all right?” she asked.

“You did perfectly,” he wrapped his arms around her and held her up against himself.  He was about to tell her how much this had helped, had healed, but he noted her gentle, even breathing.  She had fallen asleep.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Rumple lay in the bed holding his bride.  He still couldn’t believe that she was his, that she had given herself to him willingly, that she was sensitive to his own needs, his own past, his own trauma. 

And he had somehow managed to take yet another step in his recovery, his healing.

_Perhaps, she doesn’t know your True Self, the imp, the evil, dark-side entity that he carried within him whispered to him._

_Perhaps, but perhaps it is because she does know me truly – both the hunter and the imp, the man and the demon, he answered.  Perhaps she knows me better than I know myself._

_He realized that he had just had an epiphany._

He sighed and closed his eyes drifting off into a light sleep.

**Downed Wards**

He woke up early, very early in the morning. Perhaps a noise had awakened him or perhaps he had a sense of foreboding.  He got up, delicately separating himself from his wife and slipped on his linen pants. He left the warm bed and opened the shutters of one of the large windows that opened onto a balcony. He was immediately hit with a blast of cold air. He pulled on a tunic top before he walked out onto the balcony, closing the shutters behind himself to keep the heat in the room. It was quite dark outside but even in the limited light, he could tell that it was still sleeting, now with some snow mixed in. 

“She’s lovely.”

He turned, startled to hear a voice so close. 

“How did you get in?” he asked.

“Bae invited me.  He’s always inviting me in.”

“Of course,” he said to himself.  “Of course.”  He could put up double and even triple wards but nothing, nothing would protect them if there was an invitation.  His heart skipped a beat.  _Nothing to be done now – he wasn’t sure anything could have been done before._

“You will let the others in?” he asked, knowing what her answer would be.  The Dark Castle would recognize her as a legitimate member of the household.

“I already have.”

He heard an odd screeching sound and suddenly, without warning, dropping out of the blackness was a creature riding on a broomstick, strangely colored, screaming.  A stench came with it.

_Nacht Hexe!_

_Night witch!_

He felt overcome – he had to fight it – this was a spell dropping on him like a  bitter-tasting spider web.  This was something evil trying to subdue him.  He couldn’t allow it.  He wouldn’t be here to protect his Belle.  He had to . . .

_But he slumped, taken by the dark wind.  The Nacht Hexe lifted him up and was gone with him._

The other entity on the balcony stepped out.  It had all gone according to plan.  She was supposed to leave now.  She had done her job, accepting the long-standing silent invitation, coming in through the wards and then opening these same wards to all the dark forces that served her current master. 

She opened the shutters and looked into the bedroom.  There was a slight woman lying curled up in the middle of the bed.  From what Emma could see, the woman was nude and the Emma guessed that she and Rumple had recently been lovers.    _This the same woman she had watched him offend so many weeks ago.  So, he had finally coaxed her into his bed and, from all that she had heard, married the little beauty._

“Lady Stiltskin,” she whispered not daring to raise her voice for fear she might be overheard.  She walked into the bedroom.

“Lady Stiltskin,” she called again, still keeping her voice low.

Belle stirred and opened her eyes.  Her husband was not in bed with her and a strange woman was standing by her bed.

“Wha . . ?! Who are you?” Belle was instantly on high alert.  _No one should be able to get through the castle wards, certainly no one who meant them harm._

“I’m Emma.  Your husband has been taken by a _Nacht Hexe_.  She will hurt him, abuse him.  He is in great danger.  You must help him.”  Emma glanced around as if she had heard something.  “But others come.  Dress yourself for soon they will be here and will take you.  Save yourself first.”

Belle gaped a moment, even more startled when the young woman disappeared in front of her. 

**In Hiding**

Belle noted several things simultaneously.  She was still nude and began to scramble to get some clothing on, snatching up weapons as she could. 

She could hear someone, some several some ones, moving in the hall, coming toward the bedroom.

And, of course, her Rumple was gone.  _Taken by a Nacht Hexe, if she could believe her bedroom visitor._

Her German was good enough for a quick translation:  Night Witch.  She knew the name had been used during World War II to refer to the all-women squadron of Soviet pilots and bombers who flew their highly maneuverable planes on night-time bombing runs.  They would idle their engines and glide in on their targets making quiet swishing sounds, which according to German soldiers, sounded like they were riding on broomsticks.  

She doubted her late visitor was referring to these celebrated women.  No, more likely, actual _Nacht Hexen_ , actual night-witches, actually riding actual broomsticks. 

These creatures had taken her Rumple. 

_How had they gotten through the wards was a question for another time._

She heard those in the hall coming close to the bedroom and quickly threw up a _lock spell_ on the door.  _That should slow them down._   But she knew she had only seconds, perhaps not even a minute before they would break through. She grabbed her mother’s flail.  She was preparing to fight when she noticed the temperature in the room had dropped to freezing. 

A ghost was there – hopefully, the same friendly ghost who had warned her about the _Verlassen_ – Rumple’s son.  She saw something odd, something moving – a door in the wall, a door that had not been there before opened up and, without any hesitation, she dove through it.  It shut after her and she was left in pitch darkness.  She stood still in the frigid cold, not sure of where to go, how to proceed.  Outside, back in the bedroom, she heard the door blown off its hinges and she could now hear people _or creatures_ , something, _some ones_ , moving around, obviously looking for her. 

She heard them talking.

“Where is she?” one guttural voice asked.

“She was just here.”  It sounded like the woman who had been in the bedroom earlier.

“Well, does she have wings?  How could she have gotten out of here?”

There was a pause.  “I don’t know.  Could she have climbed down?”  The woman again.

Another pause.  “Only if she has wings.  Are there hidden passageways in this old place?”

“I don’t know.  I only spent a short time here.”

Wrapped in the darkness, Belle was holding her breath and trying to prevent her teeth from chattering.  The passageway was as cold as her bedroom had been and she suspected the ghost was nearby.

“Do you feel this?” She heard a whispered voice in her ear and felt a hand, a cold icy hand, laid upon her own.

“Yes,” she whispered back.

“Then let me guide you,” the whisperer said.

She opted to go along.  The ghost, if it were the same, meant her no harm, had helped her in the past, and seemed to be helping her now. 

She staggered along the blackened passage for minute after minute, shivering in the cold.  She didn’t dare ask any questions for fear that she might be overheard.  Traveling in the pitch black she was not even aware that her eyes had adjusted until she stepped into a small room when she was suddenly aware that she could begin to make out shapes. 

“Look,” the ghost commanded and raised her hand to a panel in the wall.  She felt around the panel and found it lifted up.  There were two eye-shaped peepholes and she looked through.

She nearly gasped.  She was looking down into the great chamber, the dining room and main hall of the castle. 

The room had been trashed, furniture overturned, wall hangings pulled down, rugs pushed aside, dishware strewn about.

And sitting in the big chair at the end of the table, the one she always thought looked like a throne, was a handsome, dark-haired man.  Everyone was bowing and scraping to him and he was casually ordering everyone about.  Standing next to him was . . . Cora!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Belle develops a plan  
> Rumple develops a plan


	21. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle develops a plan.  
> Rumple develops a plan.

_Rumple and Belle have continued to grow together as a couple, developing trust.  After a night of passionate love-making, Rumple finds that the wards of the Dark Castle have been breached and he is taken by a Nacht Hexe, a Night Witch.  Belle is awakened to find a woman in her bedroom warning her to hide herself.  With the aid of a familiar ghost, she is able to escape through a secret passageway and is now looking out into the Grand Hall of the Castle._

So this is the creature whom Cora had allied herself with.  This creature . . .  what was he?  The pretty blonde who had been in her bedroom, the one who had warned her, walked into the Great Room and bowed to the man. Belle could hear their conversation. 

“Well?” the man asked.

“She has fled,” the woman answered.

“Not possible,” the man said angrily.  “I can still feel her, smell her.  The Belmont blood runs true.  She is still somewhere in this castle.”  He turned to Cora, “She’s not able to transport herself, is she?”

“No, my lord,” Cora answered deferentially.  “That is not one of her powers.  Rheul told me all about her, bragging about all her talents, but that was not a skill she possessed.”

“Could she have developed it since Rheul knew her?  Could that crocodile have taught her?”

Cora seemed uncomfortable.  “I do not know.  It is. . . possible . . . I guess.  I don’t know if she is that powerful,” she finally answered.

“We keep searching then,” the man announced.  “Every place in this castle,” he ordered.

“Sir, this is a large place.  It will take us days, weeks even,” the pretty blonde reminded him.

“Then let’s keep at it.”

The blonde bowed and backed out of the room.

Belle closed the panel.  “Why did she help me?” she whispered to herself.  The blonde was obviously some type of servant or bondmaiden of the man, but she had gone out of her way to warn Belle.  Likely at the risk of her own well-being if Belle read the man correctly.  

_He’s not a man -- she heard the voice beside her head._

What was he then?  There was magic there, powerful magic.  It was a dark, rank-smelling magic.  And he seemed in charge of the others. 

She turned back to the room.   She couldn’t see the ghost but was beginning to distinguish a single true cold spot from the general chill.

“What would you have me do next?” she whispered.  _Should she transmorph out of here?  That was tempting, but she needed to find out more about what had happened to her Rumple – and somehow, she thought, these interlopers might be able to tell her._

In front of her eyes a young man manifested, solid-looking enough – and, yes, it was the same one that had helped her during her first night at the castle.  “Kill him and rescue my father from the night witch.”

“Your father?” _Then this was Rumple’s son._ “Sure,” Belle said shortly.  Then she spoke again, “And how . . . how should I go about doing either of these things?  I don’t even know what this thing is.  I don’t know where your father has been taken.  I don’t have access to the library to get more information.  I don’t know what I can do.”  As she spoke, she became increasingly upset.

“Warrior-woman,” the ghost addressed her kindly.  “I will help as I can and Emma, the woman who came to you earlier, she will help also – as she can.”

Belle swallowed her growing panic.  She had few choices here.  “All right then.  Help me.  What is he and how do I kill him?”

“He’s a vampire.  Not just an ordinary vampire.  He’s like . . .  vampire royalty.  His name from long ago is Killian Jones and he was crossed over more than five hundred years ago,” the ghost shared.

Belle nodded.  “Five hundred years?  Is that old as vampires go?” she asked.

“Old enough.  He is very powerful.  He . . . “ the young man, ghost, seemed sad.  “He took my mother, made her into what he is, made her one of his wives.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle said automatically.  _So, this was the one that Rumple had told her about – an old enemy of his._

“Oh, she wanted it.  She had gotten bored living here and was more than eager to cross over.  She thought it was a pathway to power and magic.”

“Isn’t it?” Belle asked.  “I mean, of a sort?”

“Of a sort,” the young man answered her.  “But you are a slave to your own desires and you are in absolute thrall to the one who brought you over.”

“Was your mother, was she the one . . . ?” Belle wanted to ask.

The young man hesitated.  “My father. . .  “

Belle waited.

“My father, your husband, killed her.  But, she was not longer my mother then.” 

“Oh,” Belle said, everything confirmed.  _Yes, he had told her this part of the story but Rumple had not wanted to talk about his son._

The two shared a long quiet moment.  “How . . . how do I kill him?” she asked.

The young man looked at her, puzzled.  “You are a descendant of The Gray Hunters!  Is it not in your blood what you must do?”

Belle shook her head.  “I have no idea what to do!  I’ve read the common knowledge, a stake to the heart, beheading the vampire, silver bullets in some mythologies . . . but I’ve never come up against a vampire before.  I don’t know for sure anything about how to get rid of them.”

If possible, the young man looked a trifle disgusted at her ignorance.  “What good is it to have these bloodlines if you know nothing of your heritage?”  He didn’t seem to be asking her, just railing at the universe.

He looked at her again.  “Don’t you have some sort of family weapon, something that might have been handed down, perhaps something you were told not to lose, not to be without?”

“The flail?” she suggested.  “My mother’s flail?” 

“Are you asking me or telling me?”  _Now—now, she could believe this was Rumple’s child – there was that same smug, superior tone._

“Telling you?” she answered, unsure of herself.  “Your father seemed very interested in it.  He took it from me and had promised to teach me how to use it.  He’d only just given it back to me.  I have it here, although it could probably use a new handle.”

“No, leave it as it is.  It is an enchanted weapon and you do not want to disturb the magic that created it.”

“So what?  I just walk up to this guy and clobber him a few times.”

Again, the look of disgust.  “The ‘clobbering’ part will likely work.  Each time this particular weapon comes into contact with a vampire, it does serious, permanent damage – damage that they can’t heal.  It’s the ‘walking up to this guy’ part of your plan that if going to be difficult to execute.  You saw how his minions surround him, protect him.”

Belle considered.  “Perhaps there is another way.  The blonde woman that’s with him.  Tell me about her.”

The young man closed his eyes, a pained expression washing across his face.  “That is Emma Swan.  She was brought over as another bride to the monster.”

“After your mother’s death?” Belle asked.

“Before then.  He is allowed three wives if he follows vampire tradition.”

“So, he has how many wives at the moment? “Belle asked, a plan beginning to form.

“I guess, Emma, perhaps this Cora person, but she had not been brought over. But I really don’t know.  He is prone to traveling with his women but I’ve not seen any others.”

“You knew Emma?” Belle asked.  _Hadn’t Rumple told her that his son’s wife had been taken and changed by the Vampire Captain._

“She was my wife,” the young man answered.  “We were in love.  It was considered a good match.  We were very happy.” 

“So what happened?” Belle asked softly.

“We were out walking one evening when we were attacked.  The vampire . . .  killed me. He had wanted to hurt my father and, I think, had planned to take me out but I don’t think he had any plans for Emma . . . until he saw her.  He decided that he wanted her and rather than kill her, he bit her, draining her right then and there over my body.  He made her his second wife.”

Belle had listened to this recitation with deep sadness.  “I’m so, so sorry.  Neither one of you deserved this.”

“My death was very hard on my father.  The _Erzengels_ were afraid they might lose him and he was the last of his kind, the last of the Gray Hunters.  He alternated between being deeply depressed and furiously angry.  The _Erzengels_ knew he was not to be the one to kill the vampire and had to restrain him.  He did manage to get away from them once, confronted the vampire and was nearly killed for his efforts.”

“Oh my, how did your father get away?” Belle asked the ghost.

The ghost shrugged, a very human gesture.  “He got lucky.   He was able to use his dagger and took the vampire’s hand.  That’s why the creature has a hook instead.  While the vampire was howling, my father managed, just managed, to get away.”

“But earned himself a mortal enemy in the process,” Belle surmised.

“Quite so,” confirmed the ghost.  “Although they were hardly friends before this last fight.”

Belle considered all this.  “So why are you here?”

“Unfinished business, violent death.  Those things make it difficult to move on,” the ghost explained. “It is because of me that the vampires are in the Castle.  I’m still . . . connected with Emma.  I can’t stop myself from inviting her in and because she is . . . was my wife, the Castle recognizes her as someone who lives here.  She can invite others in and did so at the command of Jones.  He is her master and she cannot resist or refuse his commands.”

Belle considered her options, “I want to get your father back from that _Nacht Hexe_.  It seems like I will have to go through a vampire’s nest to do that.  My best bet is to take out the head guy.  He could be looking for a new wife, you think?” she asked Bae.  “And he seems to favor the Stiltskin womenfolk.”

“What are you thinking of doing?”

“Getting myself captured,” she told the ghost.

**Exposure**

Belle crept along the tunnels of the castle.  Bae had clearly not approved of her plan ( _so much like his father)_ but had told her which passage came out onto the main hall.  She watched and waited until Killian was there alone.  The others were out hunting her, she assumed, or, and she shivered, just hunting.

Bae had told her to be very careful, like she wouldn’t have known this.  He had warned her that she would likely only have one opportunity, that the others would flee before her if she managed to take out Jones.  He had also warned her not to lie.  “He will know if you are lying.”

He had also warned her not to believe anything the vampire told her.

_Quite similar to all the other demons she had ever hunted._  

She softly, quietly came into the darkened room.

“Mr. Jones,” she addressed the vampire.  He turned and smiled.

_He certainly was a pretty man, tall, dark, handsome with a winning smile.  She guessed that there was likely charm aplenty that the creature could call upon when it was in his best interests._

_He made her skin crawl._

“Well, well, well,” he began.  “Miss French, is it?”

“Lady Stiltskin now,” she corrected him.

“So you married the crocodile,” the vampire narrowed his eyes and began to walk slowly around Belle.  “How pretty you are, my dear.  I must say the Stiltskin men have exquisite tastes in women and seem somehow to be able to convince these women to marry them despite their own toad-like appearances, their complete lack of social charms and their very dull intellect.”

“It was a marriage of convenience.  My order bartered me for his cooperation,” she explained.  _This was accurate and would fit in with what the vampire had most likely been told._

He nodded and smiled.  “So there is no love lost between the two of you?”

_She needed to be careful here,_ “Count Stiltskin and myself are still working out the exact nature of our relationship.”

The vampire stood very close, behind her.  He leaned in and sniffed her.  “You have been intimate with the demon hunter.”  He stated it as a fact.  “I can smell his scent all over you.”

“He is my husband. We share a bed,” Belle confirmed.

“So why are you here?” he asked.

“To see if you can make me a better offer,” Belle told him.

The vampire looked at her curiously and gave her, likely, his most charming smile.  “Sit down, my dear.  We’ll talk.”  And he called out for two of his minions, one large, unhappy looking individual and another small, unhappy looking creature.

“Nottingham, Smee.  Bring us food from the kitchen . . .  and wine.  I have a lady to entertain,” he ordered.

The two shuffled off.  Belle settled in, making herself comfortable, the flail, wedged inside her clothing, making it a bit awkward for her to adopt just any position. 

“You are the last of the Belmonts,” he told her.

“So I’ve been told,” she replied.

“But there is Van Helsing blood here too,” the vampire leaned in to sniff her neck.  “I can tell.  I did not know the two had produced any mutual heirs.”

“I apologize on behalf of my recent ancestors that the birthing invitations must have gotten mis-sent.”

He laughed at this.  “My people took out the Van Helsings a couple of centuries ago.  They were the most pious of the lot, brilliant, but boring and pretentious.  The Belmonts were much more fun -- always wild and undisciplined.  We often thought we had killed them off but they tended to have . . .” he paused delicately, “children outside the benefits of marriage, so we kept tripping over their progeny.”

Belle nodded.  _She hadn’t known this. She had so little information about her own family._

_The thought occurred to her – could she have half-siblings, half-cousins somewhere out in the world?_

The servants - _minions? -_ had returned with trays of food.  They had rifled through the kitchen and managed to find some bread, cheese and a couple of pieces of fruit.  They were carrying one of Rumple’s nicer bottles of red wine. 

Jones poured her a glass.

“Is it true, you don’t drink wine?” she had to ask the vampire as she took a sip.

“Not at all.  I enjoy wine.  But it doesn’t have the same effect on me as a human.  I don’t get drunk.”

“At least, not from wine,” she told him with a smile.

He smiled back.  “At least, not from wine,” he agreed. 

_She remembered her husband telling her that this particular vampire tended to follow a pattern of getting women drunk so that he could have his way with them – like the most lethal, disgusting frat-boy ever._

Belle continued to drink the wine and began to act increasingly tipsy as they chatted.  Jones seemed to be wooing her.  Belle had no skills or training as a seductress, so she was operating from raw intuition.  She sensed the vampire would be drawn to strong women, so she didn’t act too entirely coy with him.   But she didn’t think he would want a woman who was too aggressive, too forward.  It was a difficult line to straddle and she could only hope she was managing it.

_And hope that her drunken act was convincing._

**Prisoner**

“Where am I?” Rumple asked the darkness.  A cloth had been tied across his eyes so he was unable to see.

There was no answer and he attempted to move.  He was lying down and had been chained, his feet shackled to something and his arms pulled away from his body and chained so that he had only the most limited movement.  He was lying on something soft -- _a bed?_

_This all seemed too familiar and fear rose rapidly into his heart.  He began to experience panic, blind, stupid, mindless panic.  His mind began to unravel and he began to descend into madness._

_Then it was as if someone had slapped him._

_“Get a grip on yourself!” It was his darker demon-half.  “You’ve got to keep it together if you want to get out of here alive and find Belle again.”_

_“But . . .” he began.  He couldn’t go through this again – the torture, the humiliation, the sheer depravity.   Madness was easier._

_“That was then.  This is now,” the demon reminded him sharply.  “You didn’t have Belle then.  You do now.  Think of her whenever you feel weak.  Think of her whenever you feel like curling up into a ball, pissing on yourself and huddling in a corner.  You have to be strong for her.  You **can** be strong because of her.”_

_Rumple began to slow his breathing.  His darker half was right.  If he wanted to see his Belle again, if he wanted to survive this, he had to keep his wits about him._

_He could manage.  He would survive._

With effort, he held himself still and listened, trying to get a clue regarding his captors.

The last thing he’d remembered was standing on the balcony of his castle.  There had been an odd whooshing sound, a steady sweep-sweep of wind against stone.  Then all had gone black. 

It had been a spell of some sort. 

_How as it possible?  How had someone penetrated his wards?  They were triple-thick._

Then it began to come back slowly.  He realized that his son, Bae, had unwittingly let them in.  He’d invited Emma in _unable to help himself, desirous of his True Love,_ and she, in turn, under the thrall of the Vampire Captain, had opened the wards.  And then he had been taken by a _Nacht Hexe_.  She had dropped from the sky and put some sort of dark, sleeping spell on him.

_Belle!  What had happened to Belle?  She had been sleeping when he had gotten up._

_Oh god! Those creatures were likely swarming over the castle and had his sweet, darling wife at their mercy.  His imagination began to swell – they were likely passing her around, hurting her!  He had to get away from the Witch!_

He tested the chains.  He attempted to send some of his magic through to break them but it doubled back on him and he winced in some pain.  _The chains, the shackles were enchanted in some manner, resistant to his talents._

“Now that won’t work at all.”  He heard a female voice.  The Night-Witch, no doubt.

He felt someone sit on the bottom on the bed, the mattress giving away to her weight.

“You should have been nicer to me at mother’s little gathering,” the woman said.

_Gathering?  Mother’s gathering?  What the hell was she talking about?_

He felt her lean forward and remove the blindfold.  He blinked his eyes open.  It was a tall redhead, a tall green redhead.  He had met her before, but she hadn’t been green then – he would have remembered that.  _She was some relation to Cora?  Her daughter?  What the hell was her name?_

“Zelena,” he was able to get out. 

“Yes, darling.  I’m so glad you remember me.”  She allowed her hand to drift down his face, his neck, his shoulder.

“If you’d wanted to meet with me, a phone call would have been sufficient,” he told her.

“Oh, so funny,” she smiled at him.  “I hardly think you would have put yourself out for me while you were amusing yourself with the mousy little bitch-witch.”

“Belle?” he asked.  “Our marriage is one of convenience, a bargain made.”  _He remembered this woman had been overly-familiar, quite interested in him at the dinner party.  He suspected she had been drawn to his power – like her mother had been._

There was the slightest glimmer of hope in the deep blue eyes of the redhead.  “So you’re not in love with her?” she asked.

“With Belle?” he smiled.  “I barely know the woman.  She’s a decent fighter and seems to be smart, maybe too smart, you know? but she’s hardly interesting company for a man.”  _Belle, Belle, my darling, please understand.  He was struggling to come up with a plan. Could he convince this Nacht Hexe that he was harmless? If she were bent on seduction, could he convince her that he was an interested party?_

_Would Belle forgive him if he . . . if he participated?_

Her hand had flattened out and drifted down his body.  “You had just had sex with her right before I came,” she told him.

He somehow managed to shrug.  “She’s my wife.  A man has . . . urges, needs,” he felt like he needed to convince her his actions had been of little consequence.

“I would think your Church would frown on you . . . branching out,” she said and now her hand was on his hip.

“What the Church doesn’t know . . .”  _Damn, why couldn’t he be wearing his leather pants instead of his simple linen small clothes.  He was much too vulnerable._

“It’s said that a man has sex with his wife to make babies, but . . .” the woman started.

He finished, “makes love to his mistress.”

Her hand was now resting on his crotch.  _He wanted to ask if she knew what had been unleashed in his castle that was menacing Belle.  He wanted to get her to release him.  He wanted her to stop stroking him, his body responding despite his repulsion._

“Yes, yes, he makes love to his mistress,” she repeated.  She seemed pleased with the physical response she was getting from him.  “Do you think I’m beautiful?” she asked him.

He blinked.  He needed to string her along, he knew this, but it was so difficult.  “What I can see,” he responded.

She stopped stroking him and stood up.  She was dressed in the black flowing garments of the Night Witches, her strawberry blonde hair left long and cascading around her shoulders.  She reached up and tugged on the shoulder of her dress, pulling it off her shoulders and down her body.  She was wearing modern underpinnings, a black lace corset-like thing complete with matching panties and an attached garter belt. Sheer black hosiery completed her look.  Her skin was so pale it was almost luminescent and contrasted sharply with the black lingerie.

_It occurred to him that she had dressed for seduction, wearing things she thought he might find arousing._

He licked his lips _thinking she might interpret this as desire._ “Very nice,” he told her.  _She actually was a stunning woman, tall with firm breasts and a flat stomach -- although his tastes were currently running to compact, curvy brunettes._ “Beautiful,” he told her.  “But I can hardly pay tribute to you,” he attempted to raise his hands but was stopped by the chains.

She stood a moment, considering.  “No, I can’t trust you just yet.  You might just be saying these things to try and trick me.  If I free you, you might try to get away.”

He turned his head away from her.  “It hurts me that you feel you can’t trust me,” he said softly.

He could tell she was hesitating.  “Perhaps after,” she told him.  “If you please me.” And she reached down to vanish his undergarment, rendering him exposed.

“Well,” she laughed, “You are at least genuinely interested.” 

He knew everything depended on him convincing her he was attracted to her.  Deep inside his head, he whispered, “Belle, oh Belle, forgive me.” 

“Take off your bra,” he ordered the green witch.  Despite his subservient position, she complied with his direction.  She touched her breasts, teasing her nipples and lifting herself for his inspection.  Then she reached down and pulled off the lace thong.  Her mound was clean-shaven and he could see moisture seeping from her.  She got on the bed, getting on her knees with one long leg tucked under on each side of him.  She sat just below his swelling cock and placed one hand on his shaft.

“Let’s get you just a little closer,” she told him and began to play with him, stroking him, rubbing her thumb on the head of the shaft, using his own moisture to lubricate him. 

He closed his eyes, hoping that she would interpret this as passion _not his attempt to block out what she was doing to him._

He felt her lift and drop herself onto him.  She began to rock herself,  back and forth, up and down against him.  _Her actions were so similar to those that his Belle had just engaged in, but Belle had done so with love, with his wholehearted blessing and unspoken permission to have her way with him.  It was nothing, nothing like this._   His gorge rose in his throat and he nearly vomited but somehow, managed to keep focus. 

He couldn’t let his time with the Brides overwhelm him – not now.  He kept his mind on Belle, her love, their love. 

But . . . torture was easier to bear than this, the warm, snug body teasing his, drawing out pleasure from him despite his revulsion.  He just wanted it over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belle makes her Gray Hunter ancestors proud.  
> Rumple deals with his own nightmare.


	22. Passageways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle makes her Gray Hunter ancestors proud.  
> Rumple deals with his own nightmare.

_The Wards of the Dark Castle have been shattered.  Belle, with the help of Rumple’s ghost-son, has formulated a plan and approached the Vampire Captain.  He is intrigued by the little beauty and is plying her with wine.  Rumple has awakened and finds himself a prisoner of Zelena, now a frightening Night Witch.  She has assaulted him._

**Seduction**

They were sitting on one of the large sofas set in front of the very large fireplace of the great room.  The place was very quiet and for all that Belle could tell they were the only two left in the castle – although she doubted this.  His followers were no doubt rifling through the many rooms of the Castle, some quite possibly lost in the maze of corridors and hallways. 

_Another time, it might have been amusing.  Belle knew it was well within the Castle’s abilities to keep many of the creatures lost by shifting doors and passageways so that they would end up going in circles.  She hoped fervently that the Castle was working on her side.  The fewer enemies she had to get through, the easier this job would be._

Belle had drunk more than half the bottle of wine and was acting appropriately drunk. 

“Immortality, forever young, forever beautiful.  You offer a lot,” she told the vampire giving him her sweetest smile.  _Oh, Rumple darling, please, please forgive me._

“It is a good life.  We are the apex predators, feeding, taking what we want, who we want,” the vampire trailed the back of his remaining hand down her arm.  “I’m a generous husband and I allow my wives to take other lovers, vampire lovers, human lovers, whenever they are so inclined,” the vampire explained.

“But you have other wives,” she said petulantly, spilling some wine on herself and watching it as it dribbled down into her cleavage.  “I don’t know about sharing my man.”  She dipped her finger between her breasts to retrieve the errant liquid.  “Rumple isn’t perhaps the greatest husband _he can be quite the arrogant ass from time to time_ , but I don’t have to compete with other women for his affections.”

“You would be my favorite, Belle.  Emma doesn’t want to be with me.  She still nurses this peculiar affection for her dead husband and cringes whenever I touch her.”

“And how about this . . .  this other woman?  I recognize her -- Cora?” she asked, slowly beginning to lick the wine off her finger.

“Cora, well, Cora has not yet attained the status of a wife.  We decided it would be in both of our best interests to allow her to remain a part of the greater world until our responsibilities to our Master have been fulfilled.  And I can tell you that Cora could never supplant you as a favorite.  She is not so particularly interested in me as she is in the power I can give her.  She has a wider variety of interests and prefers . . . younger men.”

He was sitting very close to her.  He was watching her intently, his eyes on her as she continued to lick and suck on her finger.  They were alone.  Belle knew she would have only a single chance at this.  If she failed, he would likely kill her outright or, worse, turn her and put her under his thrall. 

“Can I think about it?” she asked and forced herself to place her hand on his thigh.  She looked up at him through her lashes, hoping the look was one he would find appealing.

“Perhaps,” he spoke slowly, “you would like to share my bed before you decide if I’m worthy of your consideration?”

“Hmmm, that sounds like a good idea.  We could go up to one of the bedrooms . . .” she began.

“Or we could stay here.”  And he reached forward to begin to unfasten her leather vest.  His hand slipped inside so that it was against her skin.  She nearly shuddered.  When Rumple touched her, even in his reptilian form, his hand was hot and alive, but this creature’s touch was cold and clammy.  It was like finding something dead lying up against her.  She hoped he would interpret her shivering as arousal and not revulsion. 

Her vest slipped off and then he went after her skirt.  Her flail was under her skirt.  She realized she had to distract him so she opted to return his attentions and began to undress him.  This seemed to surprise him and he pulled back momentarily. 

_She had pleased him._

She leaned over to him.  _In her mind, she continued to beg, “Rumple, please, please forgive me.”_ She kissed the vampire, allowing her mouth to first graze him, then fasten onto his.

He smelled of blood and wretched illness.  She nearly gagged but held onto her higher purpose. 

She broke off the kiss and smiled up at him.  “Why don’t you take your boots off?” she whispered.  “They look a bit much for me to manage.”

“Only if you do the same,” he told her and leaned forward.  Belle did likewise and bent over as if to slip off her footwear.  As he was still bent over, she took one last look around the room. 

It was empty except for herself and the vampire.

She reached under her skirt. 

She pulled out the flail and holding it by the handle, she whirled it once.  Jones was in the process of turning to see what the activity was when she caught him full in the face, the flail leaving blistering red marks on the handsome visage. 

He screamed and she hit him again, this time aiming for where his heart might once have been.  The chest caved in.  Belle could hear scurrying and knew his people were beginning to descend on the great hall.  She had only a few moments before they would burst in.  She again threw up the _Lock_ spell she’d used in her own bedroom earlier knowing it would give her a few more minutes.  She had to finish this. 

She began to pummel the vampire with the weapon, each blow leaving shredded flesh and broken bones.  He turned to her, “Please,” and she caught a slim, faint sense of the man he once might have been, a fearful, hungry coward who sought power and control over others.  “Please,” he begged her again. 

She hesitated and he lunged towards her.  She managed to sidestep him and watched as he turned dark and his true form began to shift, a black shadow creature, a soul-eater, a foul servant of a fouler master.  She raised the flail again, this time, shrinking the creature down to a mass of bloody tissue.

“Don’t touch his blood.”

She turned and it was Emma standing by her.  _She had come through the same passageway that Belle had used, come through Belle’s spell easily, as if she belonged in this castle._

“It’s poisonous,” Emma explained.  “I will help you get away.  I will lead the others in another direction, but you must hurry.”

“I want to get to Rumple,” she told Emma.

“Of course.  He is with the _Nacht Hexe_.”

“Where . . where are they?” Belle asked.  She had no way to know where to begin looking for her husband.

“I do not know, but someone surely will.  Ask,” Emma told her and hustled her back to the passageway that the two women had used separately to come into the room.  “When you know, come and get me.  I will go with you. I can help.”

Belle nodded and then she stopped Emma, laying her hand on the vampire’s arm.  “You . . . you invited these . . . creatures into the castle?”

Emma dropped her head, “I did.  I had no choice.”

“As you say,” Belle understood.  “Now, can you also get rid of them?  I don’t care how you do it.”

Emma gave her a quick, feral smile.  “I believe so.  It will be a pleasure.”

**Asking**

Belle had made her way to the north tower and with the help of Bae, she had managed to cast her first serious _telemorphing_ spell to take her back to the Church.  In her haste, she had pictured the priest’s office, forgetting Rumple’s warnings not to transport herself onto holy ground.  She had ended up naked in the office of the young priest. 

Archie had been stunned, rising from behind his desk gasping.

Belle had been surprised also.  She had then belatedly remembered Rumple’s warning about holy ground and was surprised she didn’t feel any discomfort.  _So that part didn’t work quite the same way for her._ Then she noticed her lack of clothing. “I forgot my clothes,” was all that Belle told the priest.   

Archie immediately supplied an overcoat for her to slip on and requested some other clothes from the sisters.  He also got her a plate of food.  Belle sat with the priest and she filled him in on what had happened.

“I know almost nothing about these _Nacht Hexen_ creatures and have no idea where they might have taken Rumple.  Emma told me to ask, but she didn’t tell me who to ask.  Can you help me?  Do you know?” she asked.

Archie shook his head.  “Perhaps his aunts . . .  or Uriel?”

All right then.  These were places to start. 

Archie pulled her aside before she left out.  “Belle, there is a . . . residue all over you.  It’s dark and unpleasant.  Even I can sense it.”

 _Something left over from her time with Mr. Jones, no doubt._   _She couldn’t deal with it, at the moment.  It would just have to linger._

Belle knew where she could find his aunts, so she set off to Sudices.  Nessie seemed to have been waiting for her, the short woman standing outside the coffee and wine bar and greeting Belle as she came down the street. 

“My dear,” the older woman began.  “I heard dear Rumple had been taken prisoner by one of those awful night witches.  Come on in.  Let’s have something to drink.”

“I . . . I don’t want coffee,” she told the older woman.

“I wasn’t offering coffee.  I have something special,” the woman leaned back to look Belle over closely.   “Oh yes, you need something special.”

Belle sat down and Aunt Artie came by to sit by her. 

“I was hoping you could help me find him,” Belle told her.  “Father Archie suggested you and your sisters.”

“Rumple is still alive,” Artie told her.

“But his life hangs by a thread,” Enola had joined them.  “If he decides it is hopeless, he will yield and madness will take him.  An insane Sabbatarian is . . . unheard of.  He’s been on the edge before.  He would be difficult to manage.”

“This is not how things were meant to be.  There has been a change in the fabric of time and reality,” Artie told her. 

“Not my fault,” Nessie had returned with a bottle of golden liquid which she poured into four glasses all around.

“I wasn’t blaming you,” Artie retorted. 

“Well, it sounded like you might be,” Nessie was defensive.

“Ladies, please,” Belle interrupted the ensuing argument between the elderly sisters.

“Yes, please,” said Enola severely.  “What we can tell you is that you will find him in someplace that has been turned to the Darkness.”

Belle groaned.  “How many such places are there to choose from?”

“Many, too many.  This will be a place of great evil,” Enola explained.  “A portal to the Underworld will have been opened in this place.  People will have sought out evil, invited it into this place.”

“Any ideas?” Belle asked, pleadingly.

The sisters looked at each other.  “Too many, too many places.  Perhaps you could ask one of the Erzengels,” Nessie finally told her. 

Belle finished her drink.  She stood, feeling invigorated and energetic.  “What was that you gave me to drink?” she asked. 

“Just a little something we keep for special occasions,” Nessie brushed off her concerns.  “It will give you energy and help clean off that scum the vampire got all over you.”

Belle thanked the sisters and walked on to one of the places she had encountered the Archangel Uriel, Jefferson’s Bar.  She felt like she’d had a shot of adrenaline and, running high off her energies, overly-focused on her ultimate mission, perhaps wasn’t paying the best attention.  She was walking under the cool afternoon shadows when The Thing struck out at her.

She felt it grab her around her feet and pull her down.  As hyper-aroused as she was, she easily managed to pull one of her daggers and confront the creature. 

It was nothing more than a Redcap, one of the little blood drinkers that lurked in alleys to waylay travelers.  As the thing raised up to kill her, it suddenly stopped and pulled away.

“Pardon, mistress,” it whined, flattening itself on the ground before her.  “I did not realize who you were.”

 _These things could talk?!_ “And just who am I?” she demanded.

“The chosen bride of the Lord Captain Vampire.”

“Of course.  I’ll let him know you recognized me and spared me,” she said graciously.  _So, the blackness, the gunky magical goo, that Jones had marked her with had been sensed by this dark creature._ She was preparing to let the creature go _although she knew she really should kill it off_ when _,_ “Wait,” she called before it had slunk away.

“Mistress?” the creature groveled.

“I seek the _Nacht Hexe_.  Do you know where she is?”

The little rank-smelling creature scrunched up its wizened face.  It was old and skeletal, an ugly, unattractive life-form.  “She is going to the Master.  She will be at Wewelsburg.  Everyone who can is gathering at Wewelsburg,” it finally answered.  “In the new, high-holy worship center.”

“Very good,” she graced the creature with a smile.  It seemed overjoyed with her approval and scampered off.

“Wewelsburg,” she said to herself.  “That sounded German.”  It reminded her of something.  When she had been at Heidelberg . . . .

Turning, she now made her way back to the Church and went into the library there.  Hardly as expansive as the one at the Castle, it did have a computer.  She typed the name in.

 _A village in Germany with a castle built in the 1600’s.  The castle was used by the SS under Heinrich Himmler as a leadership school for his SS troops._ She had some digging to do.  It was to have been the center of the new Nazi religion. In the North Tower, there was an inlaid sun wheel embedded into the floor, the so-called “Black Sun.”  Rites and rituals were practiced there.

_Sounds like someplace that might have had a portal constructed and opened, Belle thought to herself._

She considered her next move. 

**In a Dark Place**

Zelena had allowed him release from the close chains that held him down to the bed but insisted on a collar and chain, keeping him leashed to the wall of the room she had him in.  The room was minimally furnished with only a bed and a privy pot.  There were no windows and the only light came from a thin single bulb in the middle of the high ceiling.  Zelena visited him often, but he couldn’t be sure of the passage of time in the windowless room.  She would dictate his activities and quickly her predilections became clear.  She enjoyed causing pain – and it stretched the limits of his fragile sanity to capitulate and appear to willingly cooperate with her depraved desires.  Yet, she remained afraid of him and much too wary to be readily seduced by his apparent cooperation.

Zelena was not as creative as the Brides had been and there was only one of her, but she had the advantage of modern technology.  Once, she wore an appendage on her pelvis and had him kneel so that she could pummel his ass, all the while pumping his shaft until he would shamefully ejaculate into her hand.  Another time, she whipped him with different floggers and canes, drawing blood while he was instructed to pleasure himself.  The beating continued until he came for her. There was more, but he began to blur his memories in his efforts to cope.

The madness was barely kept at bay.  He often allowed the imp full rein of his psyche, wallowing in the darkness within himself.  It was the combination of his darkest feelings, the depths of his anger, his fury, along with his lightest, purest feelings, his wholesome, loving thoughts of Belle that kept the thin sliver of thread to his sanity intact.  He knew he had to continue to please and amuse the green witch if he were to have any hope of getting away to see Belle again.  Somehow, he was still able to praise the witch, place his lips upon hers and kiss her, but she would pull back in fear if he became too forceful. 

“You must give me a chance to please you,” he told her desperate to win her trust, seeing this as his best avenue of escape.  “I can do so much more if you only allow me.”

She hesitated.  “Perhaps, soon, but I cannot trust you yet,” Zelena told him on one occasion.  “But now, I must allow you out of this room.  You’ll need a bath and shave, I think.  You’ve gotten rather unpleasant to be around.”

He didn’t make a reply.  “You will join me, my mistress?” he asked her.

That definitely pleased her and she considered.  “No, we don’t have enough time.  I have to take you somewhere.” And she led him into another room with a tub.  “Now get in and wash yourself.”

“Yes, mistress,” he complied and slowly lowered himself into the steaming tub.  The soap stung where it came into contact with his open cuts and sores.  He dunked his head under the water and came up shaking it, splattering water all over the room.  She gave a girlish yelp and stepped back. “You sure you won’t join me?” he asked her again.

The woman beamed at him, quite happy with his apparent cooperation.  “We have someplace to go.  I’m to get you ready,” she told him.  Then she gave him an alb, a long white garment, to cover himself.

**The Black Sun**

Belle wasn’t sure what she was getting herself into.  She talked with Archie, Jefferson, and Ruby and explained the severity of the danger to them.  To her surprise, they all insisted on going with her. 

Belle was comfortable with taking the very capable Jefferson, as well as the ever-competent Ruby.  Belle suddenly realized that these two had become her best friends. 

“Thank you,” she told the chaos magician and the weregirl.

But as for Father Archie, Belle had shaken her head.  She felt he was valuable as a scholar but . . . as a fighter?  She did not want to put the gentle man into any danger, but he insisted -- telling her that this was something he felt he had to do.

Belle considered for a moment but she trusted intuition, hers always and, sometimes, the intuition of others.  She trusted the young priest and agreed to take him with them. 

She and Jefferson first armed themselves, much to the interest, even amusement, of their other two friends.  Jefferson carried fewer weapons than the Adept Hunter, as before preferring to rely on his short multi-purpose shovel.  But Belle, she made sure she had every weapon she could put on her person, knives, throwing stars, her flail.  She added a couple of smoke bombs and then, as afterthoughts, a taser . . . and a 45 semi-automatic pistol. 

“You would bring gun to magic fight?” Jefferson had to ask her.

“Just trying to be prepared for all contingencies,” she’d answered him.

She turned back to the group. “We have to pick up another friend, someone who is . . . uh . . . different.  Everyone join hands,” she directed them and, using her newest skill, _transmorphed_ them all back to the Great Hall of Dark Castle _this time remembering clothing._   

The room was still in shambles, still with furniture turned over, the broken, tapestries hanging askew, dishes and odd clothing strewn over the place.

But Emma was waiting.  True to her word, she had evidently cleaned out and dispelled the other life forms that had come in – at least all of those that the Dark Castle itself had not disposed of.    _Belle briefly considered how the vampire might have done this but thought better of asking for details._   When they met, Emma and the priest immediately stepped back away from each other.

“Vampire!” Archie recognized her for what she was.

“Priest!” Emma had said holding up hands as if to fend him off.

“Yeah,” Belle conceded, “but right now we’re all on the same side.”

“You sure?” Archie asked, crossing himself.

“Sure,” Belle answered him.

And then Belle managed to _transmorph_ them all to Wewelsburg.

The five were then standing outside the walls of the old castle.  It was early evening, twilight, dark enough for the vampire to stand upright.

“There are two structures, one on top of the other,” Archie, of all people, could see the two constructs.

“Yes,” Ruby concurred.  “It is like the world seems when I’ve shifted.  The magical one overlays the corporeal one.”

“Yes,” Jefferson agreed.  “it’s like seeing a ghost.”

Belle looked but saw only the original stone castle.

Archie tried to explain, “There is the original building, the old castle, and there is the one that the incantations and spells wrought into creation.  The second structure exists in the borderlands between this world and the next.  Can you not see it?”

Emma answered immediately, “Of course.  It’s more clear to me than the old castle.”

Belle looked. Given what Emma was, it made sense that she could see something caught between the two realms.  But for the others to see something that was hidden from her . . . ?  For herself, there was only the five storied gray stone tower.  Nothing else.

She looked and looked and there was nothing else.  She shook her head.  “How can I get in, if I can’t even see the place?” she asked.

Archie put his hand on her shoulder and suddenly, things began to waver.  Not quite clear but _something else_ was there.  But it wasn’t quite there.

“Perhaps if the vampire touched you also?” he suggested.

Emma complied and suddenly the world changed for Belle.  From a drab gray, early evening, she was now in a dark, foggy place, the tower now appearing as a black obelisk.  She gasped and stepped back nearly breaking contact with the two who were touching her. 

“You see it now?” Emma asked.

“I do.  What is it?” Belle knew she was seeing The Construct, something that had been created and which overlaid the natural world.  It was a bit like seeing the auras, energies that surrounded living things . . . but this thing was not living,  not in the strictest sense, yet it had sentience, awareness. 

“A portal.  One of the largest ever constructed by man.  It is a gateway between worlds.  It was made willingly, with intent.  It is a decidedly evil place,” Emma told her.

“The Altar Room with the Black Sun?” Archie asked Emma who nodded.

Belle was familiar with this from her reading.  During World War II, Himmler, in his efforts to create a new Aryan religion had taken this old castle and used it for his arcane rituals, creating and reinforcing the portal tower.  Blood magic had been used here.  Horrible things had been done here.

They entered the Other Realm and Belle immediately felt sick. 

“Are you all right?” Ruby asked her.

“I think so.  I just feel . . .” she shook her head.  _She had often descended into the Underworld to hunt dark magical creatures but this place was more, so much more.  It overwhelmed her._

Jefferson was feeling it also, “Like something is squeezing your heart?”

“And I feel sick, like I could vomit,” Belle explained further and Archie nodded.

“You are feeling the evil in this place.  It is that strong,” Archie told her.

“You don’t feel it?” she asked him. 

The young priest struggled to explain, “I know it’s there, but it doesn’t affect me.”

“It is because you are priest,” Emma explained.  She looked at the others in the group.  “You will be able to go on?”

Ruby stopped.  “I can’t . . . but I can stay here and guard the entrance.  If anything tries to get in, to follow you -- no one will get by me,” she told them.

“Good idea,” Emma told her and the group left her.  Belle glanced back and saw that Ruby had shifted to her wolf-self and was pacing, guarding their backs.

Emma continued to lead them up the stairs, up and up to the topmost floor. 

Belle felt sicker and sicker with each step but kept reminding herself why she was there and slowly, the feelings became more manageable.  She was there for a noble purpose and the more she concentrated on her reasons, the less ill she felt. 

They came out into the room, a round tower room with large windows on all sides.  In the center of the room was a large black sun wheel inlaid into the floor.  Four chairs were set around the sun.  Sitting cross-legged in the center of the design was a young boy, an adolescent, with pale skin and dark blond hair.  He rose as they came into the room. 

“Emma, Belle and . . . I wasn’t expecting you others, Archie, isn’t it? And Jefferson” the young boy greeted them and gave the four a short bow.  “The exact number I needed.  Welcome.”

The four looked at each other. 

“You are the _Bleich Reiter_?” Belle asked.

The boy smiled.  “That is one of my names, yes,” he agreed.

“We’re here to stop you,” Archie told him.

“I know.  But you know, unlike my brothers, it is not possible to put me in a box or a prison to contain me or put me to sleep by draining my energies or even dissuade me with your wholesomeness.  You cannot destroy me for I am Destruction.”

“Then we will die in the attempt,” Emma told him circling around him.

The boy chuckled.  “That amuses me coming from a vampire, one of my own children.  All of you, stop what you’re doing and take a seat,” he gestured to the four chairs set around the sun.  

They hesitated but the boy continued, “Come on now, nothing is going to happen until the sacrifice arrives.  We might as well chat and get to know each other.”

Belle and the others slowly moved toward the chairs, each one set on one of the cardinal points of the compass.

“Sacrifice?” Belle couldn’t stop herself from asking.

“Of course.  Everything has led up to this, my dear. Although I’ve been able to briefly move back and forth between the realms, I need the body of a strong, powerful soul to fully and completely enter your world.”

“And once that happens?” Archie asked.

“Why, I will rule for a thousand years, probably longer,” the boy answered.  “Ah, late as usual, but I believe she has arrived.” 

They could hear the odd whooshing sounds as something approached the windows of the tower.  The large window flew open and riding on what could only be interpreted as a broomstick was a woman clad in black.  Behind her, clinging to her, was a man in white.  She landed in a flurry and dismounted allowing the man to stumble off to stand next to her.

“Rumple!” Belle immediately recognized her husband. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything is resolved.


	23. Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the resolution of almost everything.

_Still marked by the Vampire, Belle has been given the likely location that she will be able to find her missing husband from a groveling Redcap.  Jefferson, Ruby and, surprisingly Archie, have all agreed to go with her to fight.  Belle has also included Emma the Vampire in her group and the fivesome have arrived at the tower room of The Black Sun where they meet the Fourth Rider.  Rumple has been barely surviving the torturous attentions of the Zelena, the Night Witch.  And now, he and she have arrived at the The Black Sun._

“Rumple!” Belle immediately recognized her husband.  As she jumped up and was running over to him. The other woman turned to her.  Raising her hands toward Belle, she pushed the smaller woman over, and Belle fell backwards. 

“Belle!” Rumple called out to her but was quickly jerked to attention by the woman.

“You were not given permission to speak, dearie,” she told him.  Then she turned toward the boy and bowed deeply.  “Master, forgive us for being late.  I had not realized that the extra weight would make flight time longer.”

“It’s forgiven.  I was able to chat a while with our Witnesses,” the boy told her.

“Zelena!” Belle now recognized the woman when she spoke.  “What happened to you?” 

“I found someone who could give me everything I ever wanted,” Zelena told her and then Zelena ran her hands over Rumple who closed his eyes but did not resist.

“Not bloody likely, you bitch,” and Belle dove at her, knocking her off her feet. 

Zelena was bigger but Belle was a trained fighter.

And she was furious. 

The two women quickly engaged in an all-out frenzied attack while the others looked on, including the boy who seemed to be enjoying the match.  Jefferson cautiously shifted himself so that he stood near the boy, his shovel at the ever-ready. 

The fight was ferocious.  Zelena was armed only with Rumple’s very dangerous kris knife and Belle knew enough to be wary of this, quickly knocking it away and out of Zelena’s grasp.  Zelena then tried to use magic but Belle quickly countered her spells, bouncing them back onto Zelena. 

It was quickly evident that Zelena fought impulsively, emotionally, while Belle was calculating and careful.  Belle was using every bit of training, all her knowledge, her passion, to fight the dark witch.  Unlike Zelena, she used her surroundings to her advantage, using the air coming through the windows to blow her enemy off balance, cleverly using the metal gilting from different places in the walls, heating them and spinning them into sharp splinters and then driving them through Zelena like needles, using even the very dust from the floor, swirling it up and clouding Zelena’s vision. 

Both women were able to launch themselves into the air and several times collided, taking down roof tiles and parts of the wall as they cut, slashed, and bounced off the walls and each other. 

The fight was requiring much more than physical prowess and Belle was glad of her husband’s lessons in infusing magic into her attack skills.  She began to realize that she was more than a match for the larger woman.  The two were rolling together on the floor when Belle ended up on top.  She pulled out her taser and zapped Zelena.

 Zelena cried out and would have curled into a ball if Belle had not been sitting on her.  Belle then pulled her gun and pointed it at Zelena’s head.  Jefferson stood behind the boy with his shovel at the ready.

“Listen, bitch, we’re going to do two things,” Belle said breathlessly.  “Zelena, you’re going to take any compliance spell or, hell, any spell you have on Rumple, off immediately.  Then we’re going to walk out of here with him.  If you,” she glanced up at the boy, “If you interfere, I’ll put a bullet in her brain.”

The boy shrugged.  “Go ahead.  I’m much more impressed with you anyway.  Zelena was to have been my consort but she has . . . disappointed me.  I think, instead, that you will do.” The boy was looking her over slowly.  “Yes, you’ll do very nicely.”

“Nooo!” Zelena was devastated.  She wailed and thrashed as Belle stood up still holding the gun on her. 

Zelena was able to pull herself upright but she but was still fuming, “You messed everything up,” she hissed at Belle.

“Yeah, like it’s all my fault.”

“Enough ladies.  I’m actually on a clock here,” the boy told them.  “Let’s try this again.  First,” he addressed Belle, “you are not walking out of here with Rumple, at least not yet.  No, instead, Rumple, is that what you call him?” the Pale Rider was momentarily distracted.  “Curious.  Rumple will stand in the center of the sunwheel.  To save you and his friends, he will willingly allow me to take his heart and . . . I will then take his body.  This will allow me to fully, completely and totally enter your world.” The boy turned to Rumple.  “Do you understand?”

Rumple nodded and numbly walked over to the sunwheel.

“Nooo,” cried Belle.  “Take me, take me instead.”

The boy turned toward her.  “A woman? I’ve not considered such a possibility.”  He looked her over.  “Step away from the Hexe and come over here,” he directed her.  Belle complied and Jefferson moved in to guard Zelena.

“No, Belle,” Rumple managed to get out.  “Let me . . . I’ve lived long enough.  Let me be the sacrifice.”

“I can’t let you, Rumple.  Let me,” Belle pleaded with him.

“Yeah, let her,” Zelena said snidely.

“Oh, I think it will have to be the man.  He is, after all, my own blood,” said the boy after due consideration.  He smirked at the group.  “I have from time to time been able to enter this world long enough to engage in ‘communion’ with the fairer sex.  You, dear child,” he spoke to Rumple, “you are an offspring to be proud of.  So many were such failures, greedy, grasping only for what power this realm could offer when they could have had so much more.”  He turned back to the group, “I’m sure everyone here gets the irony of me sacrificing my own son.”  He gestured to Rumple, “Come along.” 

He then stopped moving.

He appeared frozen.

.

.

.

“What the hell?” Emma asked.

It took a moment before they heard it, soft and low.  Archie was rocking back and forth, his eyes closed.  He was murmuring prayers, sanctifications, supplications, verses from the Bible, everything he could remember, continuously droning on and on.  He was in a trance and unaware of the effect he was having. 

Emma picked up the fallen kris knife.  “Well we can’t kill him and we can’t just leave him,” she said walking around the frozen boy. 

“We can destroy the portal,” Zelena suddenly volunteered.  “If he doesn’t have a way to fully come into our world, then he’ll remain trapped in his – at least for a while.”

“Good idea,” Belle told her, surprised at the support coming from Zelena. 

“How do we destroy the portal?” Emma asked. 

Rumple smiled.  “We hold hands.” 

They went over to Archie who was still entranced, still praying, and Belle took one of his hands, then Rumple, then Emma, then Jefferson, and then Zelena, who cautiously took Archie’s other hand. 

“Now what?” Zelena asked.

“We say who we are and why we want to close the portal.  I think Archie’s already said his piece. Belle?” Rumple explained and nodded to Belle.

“I am the scholar.  For knowledge’s sake, I would have this portal closed.”

Zelena shook her head but with extra urging by Belle, began, “I am the betrayed.  For the sake of my soul, I would have this portal closed.”

Then Emma, “I am the undead, taken before my time, taken unwillingly, taken from my One True Love.   For the sake of what I once was, what I would have been, I would have this portal closed.”

Then Jefferson, “I am the warrior.  For the sake of those I would defend, the beaten down, the abused, the abandoned and neglected, I would have this portal closed.”

Finally Rumple, “I am the magician.  For the sake of hope, for faith, for all things that bring life, for all that is good, for the sake of magic, I would have this portal closed.”

Nothing happened.

Zelena was about to break contact, but Jefferson shook his head at her and held onto her.  The groundswell started slowly, beginning only as a dark mist and a low humming sound.  The mist swirled about them, growing lighter, growing bigger, growing faster. They could now hear screams from the shredded, shrouded forms surrounding them, pushing the mist along, giving it strength and energy.  Zelena screamed as she began to see figures in the mist, but Jefferson warned her not to let go unless she wanted to become one of them.

The mist, now comprised of hundreds of entities, smothered them, howling and moaning and, finally, coalesced inside their circle.  The mist encompassed the boy who began to grow, changing from a slight pale figure into a large black, winged creature.  Belle caught a glimpse of its visage, both beautiful and terrifying, before the mist completely encapsulated the creature.  There was the sound of an explosion and they were suddenly standing in a drab world.  All around them the wraiths were still moving.

Zelena squealed when one of them brushed up against her.  “What are you?” she asked but there was no answer.

“Don’t break the circle,” Rumple warned her.

Above them they could see a light and the wraiths began to move towards it, flying up and over them, moving into the light as it beckoned them. 

Then the light was gone and it was night and the tower was empty.

“They’re gone?” Zelena asked.  She had returned to her normal skin color.

“The Pale Rider is gone now for a thousand years or so, until it will try again,” Rumple explained.  

“What were those other things?” Zelena asked.

Belle explained this one.  “This castle was used for all manner of torment beginning long ago during the witch trials and later during the Nazi rituals. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of poor innocent souls were tortured and executed in this place.  They had been trapped here.  They helped us out and, I guess, by our closing the portal they were able to leave.  Now they can find some peace.”

“Good for them,” Emma said softly.

Archie blinked.  “Wha?  What happened?  I was sitting in the chair and I felt something come over me.”

“You saved us,” Rumple told him.

“How?” the young priest asked, completely confused and thoroughly puzzled.

“Your prayers,” Rumple answered.  “Now, we have another matter to take care of.”  He turned on Zelena taking a menacing step towards her.

“Listen,” she said, backing away from him.  “I was seduced by the dark side and . . . hey, I came over to your side and helped you, didn’t I?  I was possessed when I did all those terrible things to you!”  She was crying and looked genuinely remorseful.

However, Rumple was not in a forgiving mood.  “I can’t forgive you.  I can’t trust you.  I can’t walk away,” he told her.  He had her against the wall and had raised his hand.

“Kill her,” Emma said succinctly.  “She’s not to be trusted.”

“She’ll turn on you the first chance she gets,” agreed Jefferson.

“No. Rumple.  Killing in cold blood.  You can’t.  You shouldn’t,” Belle was concerned for his soul.

There was an impasse.  Rumple hesitated.

“Perhaps a stay at the little monastery where you grew up, Count?” Archie suggested quietly.  “They certainly have magic strong enough to contain her and, perhaps, can purge her of whatever darkness is within her.”

Rumple gave Archie a slow smile.  “Turn her over to the clerics?  I like that.”

“What? Where are you taking me?” Zelena asked.

“Someplace worse than death,” Rumple told her and with a glance at Belle, he added, “I promise, I won’t kill her.”

Belle had put her hand on his arm.  She locked eyes with him. “Rumple, are you . . . are you . . . all right?” _Such an inadequate question, yet Belle had to ask him before he left.  This wasn’t the time, the place, but she had to ask._

He gave her a weak smile.  “I am now.”  He looked her over.  “And you?  Are you all right?”

She also gave him a quick smile, “I am now.”

“Good.  I’ll meet you back at the Church.”

She nodded.

Rumple gave one last glance, “Emma, there’s a place for you in the Dark Castle.  With Bae.  You can, in a manner, be together.”

Emma stood quietly a moment before answering, “Thank you.”

Then Rumple and Zelena disappeared.

Belle turned back to the group.  “All right.  I guess, we need to collect Ruby and make our way out of here back to the Church.”

As the four walked back down the tower steps, Emma leaned over to Belle, “Let’s not materialize inside the Church grounds, if you don’t mind.”

Ruby was waiting.  She transformed herself back to human form when she saw them and re-dressed. 

“It was busy down here,” she told them nodding at a number of burnt places on the grounds around the walkway. “All manner of vermin.”  She looked around them.  “I don’t see Rumple?”

“He’s fine and will join us later,” Belle explained.

They all joined hands and they soon found themselves outside the Church early in the evening. 

“I’ll be off,” Emma told the other two and before their eyes, she changed herself into a bat and flew away into the sky.

“I’m off too, I have a Lady waiting for me,” Jefferson told Belle and gave her a quick hug.

“That was fun,” Ruby told her and turned to walk back toward Jefferson’s bar with the magician. 

Belle and Archie stood together as the last three members of their party departed.  Belle noted that Archie was watching Ruby as she walked away but she did not comment on it. They walked back into his office at the Church together.

They were met there by Uri.  “That was a fine job, all around,” he complimented the two. 

“Thank you,” Belle said to the Erzengel.  “Will we see you again, now that the job is done?” she asked.

Uri smiled, the facial expression on his somber face somewhat creepy.  “You think the job is done?” he asked her.  “Well, perhaps for now.  But we have Rumple Stiltskin for, at least, another thousand years,” he remarked.  “I’m sure there will be other tasks for him.”

Belle decided to speak up.  “Can’t you give the man a break?  He’s fought for centuries, fought your battles, risked his life, his well-being.”

Uri drew himself up to his full height, towering over diminutive Belle.

“Woman, do you not realize whom you are addressing?” he asked her.

“Of course I do.  Am I supposed to be afraid of you?  I’ve been fighting the dark versions of you and your siblings or cohorts or whatever you are to each other.  If I’ve been able to stand up to them, my enemies, your enemies, of course, I can stand up to you,” she told him bristling.

“Isn’t there something you can do?” Archie who had been watching all of this, appealed to the Erzengel Uriel.  “You have enough power, enough authority.  Do you have any humanity in you to get this man his freedom, at least a respite?  He’s sacrificed so much for you and yours.”

Uri seemed uncomfortable and did not look at any of them.  “Perhaps, perhaps, we can work out a deal,” he finally said.

The Church

Belle was waiting outside of the Church when Rumple transmorphed in.  She didn’t say anything to him, just hugged him.  He hugged her back.

“Was it bad?” she finally asked him.

He nodded, not letting her go.  “I nearly broke, but knowing I had your love . . . I just managed to hold on.  Belle,” he looked into her eyes.  “I pretended that I was . . . interested in Zelena,” he confessed.  “Please, please, can you forgive me?”

“You did what you had to do to stay alive.  I did the same with the Vampire Captain.  He didn’t know that alcohol doesn’t affect me, tried to get me drunk, I pretended I was drunk and I . . .”

“Did what you had to do to stay alive. You killed him?” Rumple asked.

Belle nodded. 

“Your first vampire kill, I take it?” he asked.

“Yes.  Emma told me the blood is poisonous,” Belle said.  “It was pretty messy.”

“Yes, they are among the more difficult creatures to dispose of.”

“I kissed him,” Belle confessed.

“You did what you had to do to stay alive,” he again repeated her words to her.

“We’re all right then?” she asked him.

“Well, I plan on having several months of horrid nightmares and the occasional brutal flashback, but, I think, yes, I think I’m all right, or, at least, I’ll be all right.  As long as I have you,” he told her.

“Same here.”

The two had a late supper with Archie at the Church. 

“Will you two spend the night here?” he’d asked them.

“One night,” Rumple answered.  “I’m anxious to be home.”

Still at the Church

Once they were in their room, they removed their clothing.  Belle reached for Rumple and he winced. 

“I’m sorry.  Oh dear, you have a bruise.”  Belle began to look him over.  “You have all these bruises and scratches and . . . Zelena did all this?” she looked up at him, horrified, her eyes taking in the welts, the burn marks, the barely healed cuts.   “I had . . . I had no idea.”

Rumple looked at her and was surprised to find she had tears flowing down her cheeks.  He reached out and gently touched one of the tiny globules, bringing back a wet finger.  “I’ve never . . . I’ve never had anyone shed tears for me,” he told her in wonderment.

“If I had know just how bad, how badly she’d hurt you I wouldn’t have interfered.  I would have let you kill her.  I would have killed her.  Next time that . . . that witch crosses your path, you do whatever you think necessary.”

“Belle, no, you were right.  There was another way.  I kill enough as the Gray Hunter and my soul is darkened enough.  It was good to take the high road for a change.”  He pulled her over to him and they ended up falling onto the bed.

That night, they slept together, just slept, their arms wrapped around each other as if they couldn’t get close enough. 

It was early the next morning when he awakened to retching sounds and got up to check on his little wife.

“I’m so sorry,” she told him, wiping her mouth.  “I’m never sick but . . . I guess the combination of stress.  I’ve been feeling so tired since my battle with Zelena.”

Rumple sat on the edge of the bathtub.  “Belle,” he began slowly.  “You’re not sick.”

“Probably not,” she agreed.  “It’s just a little something that will pass.”

“Oh, it will pass,” he told her and repeated, “You’re not sick.”

She looked up at him, still propped next to the commode.  It took a moment.  “Oh,” was all she said.

“The Fertility Ritual we took part in – it’s pretty powerful and . . . a lot of times . . . .”

“I’m pregnant,” she finished for him.

“You all right with that?” he had to ask.

“Your baby?  I’m more than all right with it.  It’s just . . .  unexpected.  Oh no,  I drank wine before I knew.  I hope that won’t affect the baby.”  She looked anxious and he pulled her up so that she was able to sit on his lap.

“Already you’re acting like a mother,” he had to smile in approval.  “The wine won’t affect the baby, I’m sure – the dhampir lines run pure.  I’m more concerned if my demon strain will show up.”

“If it does, I promise to love our little green goblin baby,” she assured him.

“We’ve had some breakfast delivered to the room,” he told and pulled back a little.  “You still have stuff on you.”  He was looked around her, at her aura normally white and gold shining brightly but now stained and dirty-looking.  “The vampire Jones, he put his mark on you.”

“Your aunts gave me something to drink.  They said they would help clean it off.”  She sat still while he raked his hands around her, pulling off the tendrils visible to him of black, tarry slime.  Once he was satisfied she had been cleaned off, they sat down to eat.  Belle picked at her food, pushing it around the plate, her stomach still queasy.

He watched her a moment.  “Let’s go home.”  He paused, “Home?  I haven’t thought of the Dark Castle as home in a long time,” he told her pensively.

“Do we have to keep calling it the Dark Castle?” Belle asked him.  “I don’t want to raise our children in some place called the Dark Castle.”

“Well, it got that name after Milah’s conversion . . .” He stopped.  “You want more than one?”

“Well, we’ll start with this one I think, but others would be welcome.   But perhaps our home should be called The Light Castle or even just The Castle, anything would be better than The Dark Castle.  I think there would be one of those rooms next to our bedroom that would make for a nice nursery.”  Belle turned her attention to her food.

“Nursery?” he was grinning.  “Sounds good to me.”

“Good lord, the poor child will be the cumulation of all the Sabbatarian families, all three lines,” she said suddenly realizing the legacy they had to pass on. “We’re going to need some help.”

“Oh, I’m sure my aunts will help . . . and Archie . . . and Ruby . . . and Jefferson, although he may be raising his own little demon-fighter,” Rumple told his wife.  “Or his own little demon,” he corrected himself.  He looked at Belle.  “I love you.”

“And I love you,” she told him.

Back Home

Belle and Rumple had telemorphed to the outside of his castle.   It was cold and they huddled up against each other. 

“I just wanted to see it from the outside,” Rumple told her.  “See how bad the damage to my wards were.”  He shook his head.  “Pretty bad, Emma’s pretty powerful – she had magic before she became a vampire, you know.  Working from the inside, she was able to crack, shred and melt every one of my protections.  I’ll have to spend some time putting them back up.  I’ll get your help with that – it will make them even stronger.”

“What’s that around the North Tower?” Belle asked.  There was a gray mist obscuring just that part of the castle.

“I believe that we’re seeing a most unusual combination – the magics from a vampire and from a ghost combined.  If they’ve done what I think they’ve done, over time that tower will disappear from normal sight.”

“Then Emma and Bae are together?” Belle asked him.

“As much as the dead and the undead can be.  It is not the same as being together as living beings but . . .  it is something.  As one of the undead, Emma can never pass on.  Her immortal soul has been destroyed and only her body is left. But. . .” he paused.  “There has always been something different about Emma the Vampire.  I’ve suspected the True Love she shared with my son made her stronger than the ordinary mortal and it is possible she retained some tiny bit of her soul.  That’s why she was able to resist the Captain from time to time, why she remained on the side of us Good Guys.  Bae chose to stay here, to never pass over to the next world rather than be separated from her.  Perhaps, at some point, Emma’s soul, if she has any part of one, will be strong enough to allow her to truly die and the two can pass on and forever be at peace together.”

Belle nodded, saddened to hear their fates but with some sense of gladness that they were at least together.  She had liked both the ghost and vampire. 

“So how long do you think before the God Squad will call on you?” she asked Rumple.

He frowned, “Don’t think the four highest ranking archangels would appreciate you calling them that,” he told Belle.  “But I don’t know.  Time doesn’t have the same meaning to them as it does to us.  It could be two days or two centuries.”

_Before they had left, they had met with the Uriel at the Church.  He had insisted that the agreement Rumple had made with Raphael to save Belle’s life would keep him in thrall forever. But, he granted this, that when the Erzengels would ask for help, he would now have the right to refuse.  He had earned that much._

_Belle had understood.  Knowing what her husband was, she knew that he wouldn’t likely refuse any request for help, but, at least, there was the pretense that he could if he wanted to.  The Erzengel had then reminded Belle that she and Jefferson had a similar agreement with them._

_“It’s as if we have a fine, new generation of Sabbatarians,” Uri had remarked softly. “And they have friends this time.  We are getting stronger.”  He had stood.  “Go in peace.”_

They were close to the front door of the castle.

“Will our babies be talented, like we are?” Belle asked.

“The odds are that they will be.  The Sabbatarian talents certainly run in families,” he answered.

“Well, I guess it won’t be boring.”

“I’d like to try boring for a while, though,” he confessed as he opened the castle door.  He walked in and looked over the shambles that lay in the remains of the great room of the castle.

“What the hell happened here?” he asked. 

-The End-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of follow-up notes (for any who might be interested).  
> The Inceptual Idea for this story came when I heard my son use the term Nachthexen. With my meager German I understood the word and immediately had the vision of a Night Witch (Zelena) swooping down through the protections of the Dark Castle and taking Rumple. The entire story tumbled into my head and I had to scurry to get as much of it down as I could (much like waking from an interesting dream).  
> My information bible for this story was forty-four pages long (that’s a lot for me). I pulled on various works in regards to the Four Horsemen and the Four Archangels (there is a lot of dissimilar information out there and I just made the decisions of what I would use based on what I needed for the story). The Sabbatarians came about after finding the term buried in the Internet referring to people born on Saturday who are able to see demons. Bram Stoker’s Dracula with Van Helsing and the video games of Castlevania with the Belmont family were also borrowed and many of their characters, of course, were minor players in this story. Jefferson’s AU character came about when I watched something about Spetsnaz, the Russian Special Forces, and it really seemed to fit (the idea of being able to fend for yourself with only a shovel was super-appealing). I was able to include Lilith on a whim and introduce readers to Chaos Magicians (yes, there are people who identify themselves as Chaos Magicians). Rumple’s ‘aunts’ are, of course, the most famous of all spinners, the Three Fates (I added one aunt to the canon duo); their names are taken from the three planes (The Enola Gay, Necessary Evil and The Great Artiste) that were part of the convoy that dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima. Dr. Totenkopf was blatantly ripped off from Sky Captains and the World of Tomorrow. (And, oh yes, I’m well aware that Cora is a loose end – I would guess that Emma disposed of her in some gruesome manner – we can all only hope). Although I think a sequel is unlikely – she could be my springboard character).  
> The Necronomicon (for anyone who caught that this was Belle’s grimoire) is named after the most famous grimoire ever (H.P. Lovecraft’s fictional work).  
> Perhaps the most amusing thing from this story relates to my decision to place the Dark Castle on (for me) a faraway exotic island. The Faroe Islands came up. After all my research, I’m now apparently on a Special List and I’m now getting regular weather reports and news from this beautiful place.  
> Hope you enjoyed. If I survive NaNoWriMo, I’ll be going (eventually) with a fun piece set in Asheville, North Carolina, wherein Rumple, a brilliantly talented but dissolute artist wakes up from a drunken stupor to find something in his life has changed. An Excerpt follows:
> 
> She was in there, bustling about, making his bed up with fresh sheets. She’d already whirlwinded through the bedroom, collecting his dirty laundry. She was humming a pleasant little tune oh god! she was humming. She didn’t notice that he had come in and was watching her. When she turned and came face to face with him she stopped. 
> 
> “Oh, I didn’t know you were there. I should be finished in here in just a moment,” she told him brightly. 
> 
> He stood where he was, blocking her exit. 
> 
> “Miss,” he finally began.
> 
> She stood waiting.
> 
> “Who are you?” he asked.
> 
> She giggled. She actually giggled. “I’m Belle French,” she told him.
> 
> That wasn’t enough. 
> 
> “Who . . . what . . . why are you here?” he finally formulated a question.
> 
> She smiled at him gently. “You don’t remember, do you?”
> 
> He shook his head.
> 
> “You asked me to come here,” she answered.
> 
> “Did I propose?” he asked suspiciously, suddenly very much on guard.
> 
> “Oh, no, well, not marriage, if that’s what you’re asking.” She was still smiling at him. “My father is Maurice French, Moe French.”
> 
> She was met with a blank stare. 
> 
> She continued, “He owns the Crown of Thorns, the florist business on the ground floor. He’s a bit in arrears for his rent. You offered him a deal.”
> 
> Oh lord, what kind of convoluted, sick, disgusting deal had he offered the florist? Surely the old pervert wouldn’t have bartered his daughter for his rent? 
> 
> He took a breath and braced himself. “Wha . . . what was this deal?”

**Author's Note:**

> NEXT: Belle will spend an uncomfortable night.


End file.
